She sounds so ridiculously vain and vapid, but I know she’s not. She’s just a woman who’s been through a lot in the last couple of years and had the rug pulled out from under her again. Because of me. Again. I sigh and try not to focus on the fact that she doesn’t love Maine the way I do. The family vacations to the cottage my grandfather’s family built are some of the best memories in my life. I feel at peace there. I love Maine, and playing there is far from the end of the world. I had no idea where I would end up when I wouldn’t bend on the contract negotiations, but the Riptide would have been high on my list if I could have picked.
“Angie, you can get a keratin treatment a week if you want. I don’t care. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy, babe. If you’ve got my back, I’ll have yours.” I’ve been telling her this since I realized I was in love with her, which was the third date. That was nine years ago.
I pick up my phone, scanning the slew of messages. The bedroom door opens, and Angie’s pretty face stares at me, no longer crying but pouty. “I’m gonna miss this place so much. Do we have to sell it, Landon? Please say no. We can come back on breaks in the season if we keep it.”
Well, fuck. Yeah, we kind of have to sell it. This teeny house in Venice, a block from the beach, with a rooftop deck with views of the ocean, cost me ten million. And I’m also holding onto the apartment in our hometown of San Fran, which cost me eleven million. I’m cash poor, and I know Maine is cheap, but something has to give. The medical bills from my cancer treatment didn’t help with that situation.
“I’ll figure out a way to keep it,” I say as I turn back to my phone.
There’s a welcome message from the captain of the Riptide. I respond quickly, telling him I’m looking forward to joining the team, and I hope he’s healing well. I’d heard he had surgery this summer for something. Was it his hip or knee? I don’t remember exactly. There’s a bunch of goodbye messages from Quake players. I keep scrolling until Grady’s message.
“Have you talked to your parents?” Angela calls through the door, which she left ajar.
“Yeah, as soon as I hung up with my agent,” I reply because Angie was at Pilates or some such shit when I got the call. “He says this is a good thing. A fresh start. If I keep playing the way I’m playing next year, when my contract ends, I’ll be able to sign anywhere.”
“If he’s right, then maybe we can come back here.” The hope in her voice is undeniable and also aggravating. I don’t think I want to come back here. “I have a feeling Tate may want to switch with you. With his kid now, and another on the way, he’ll likely enjoy being close to his hometown and parents. And I know all those boys want to play together, just like their dads wanted to.”
“Wait. What? Tate is having another kid?” I can’t keep my jaw from dropping.
“Yeah. Shit. Was that a secret? Mallory told me, but yeah, she’s barely showing, so maybe I should have been quiet. But anyway, you two could switch next year!”
How do I explain to my girlfriend that you can’t just swap teams with your friend because it’s convenient? Also, Tate is offense, and I’m defense. She gets that… right? Now I wonder if, after nine years of dating me, she doesn’t actually know my position, or anything about the sport I love. “That’s… a long shot, babe.”
Holy crap. Tate is going to have two kids before thirty. I’m twenty-eight, and kids haven’t even hit my radar yet. Actually, they have hit my radar; they just haven’t hit Angela’s. She doesn’t have a clock… or it hasn’t started yet. And now I may not even be able to have kids. That’s something that’s been weighing on me since my first round of chemo.
She’s standing in the doorway again, and she looks sad. “Are we really doing this?”
“I’m doing it. Yeah. I have to, Angie. I didn’t fight so hard to come back from cancer to give up now,” I say, and she seems to absorb that—understand it.
She sighs. “I’m calling my sister.”
She closes the door. Calling her sister isn’t a bad thing, necessarily. Angela and her sister Julie are close, unlike me and my siblings. I think it’s because they’re only two years apart, whereas Callan and Lola are eight years younger than me. At least, that’s the rationale I tell myself.
I sit down on the couch as I finally find Grady’s message.
I read his second message over and over. And PS: I got you.
I have to admit it feels nice knowing he’s going to be there too. Grady is a good guy. He wasn’t on the team when I went on leave for my cancer, but he was our number one goalie by the time I got back. I hit it off with him instantly. We just vibed. If I could pick one dude to bring with me, it would be him.
I smile, for the first time since the news broke, and I text him back.
LANDON: I got you too. See you soon.
Chapter 3
Grady
“I’ve never been on a private jet before!” Angela squeals as she flips her long blonde hair over both shoulders and turns to me. “Do I look okay? Private plane worthy?”
I fight the urge to shrug. Because honestly, how the fuck do I know? But I give her outfit a quick once-over and nod with confidence. “Angela, you look great.”
Her cheeks pink from the compliment and the excitement, I’m sure. “Thank you.”
The flight attendant approaches and gives us a friendly smile. “Right this way. We’re ready for boarding.”
Angela pushes her shoulders back and marches toward the glass doors that lead to the small tarmac at the private Long Beach airport. “Landon is still in the bathroom.”
I point toward the oak doors in the small, private waiting area… or terminal, or whatever the hell you call it when it’s for a private jet. The guy nods, and Angela sighs so loud I can hear it from over here. “He’ll find his way. I want to make a reel while the light is good.”
