The rest of my life looks pretty damn bleak without hockey being the center my life orbits around. Every single day, I was a King—no, more than that. I captained the ship. Now, I’m about to fade into statistical obscurity.
I look at the termination paperwork in the folder. The information is in there. Laid out clinically. Enough money to last a lifetime if I’m smart. But there’s no clause for dignity. No line item for recognition.
Even as Legal slides a pen toward me, the owner reminds me, “You don’t have to sign today.”
I snatch it up and place the tip on the paper. “Yes, I do.” They all look at me, stunned at how quickly I capitulate. “Because if I don’t, I suspect there will be a leak about me not being ‘medically compliant.’ So, not only will I lose out on the package outlined here, I’ll still never be able to skate again anyway.”
Since there’s no contradiction, I know I’m right. My hand trembles. I hope no one sees it and attributes it to my brain instead of the emotional impact of this moment. With a broad stroke, I sign my name on all the flagged pages—initialing where indicated.
I surge to my feet when the paperwork is handled. I send the pen careening across the table in case they want to save it for posterity. “Congratulations. I’m out.”
The coach extends his hand across the table. I just look down at it, making no move to take it. Withdrawing it, he awkwardly says, “You’ll always be part of this organization, Brennan.”
“Will I?”
“You know you will.”
“Huh. That’s funny, because other than Mark and Doc, how many of you have checked in since I was placed on the disabled list?” The room is stunned by my remarks. In that silence, I scoff. “Don’t start pretending the Kings care now.”
With that parting shot, I leave the room.
The problem is I don’t have any idea of who I’m supposed to become now that I no longer have hockey as part of my identity.
4
LOW-TO-HIGH – PUCK MOVED FROM BELOW THE GOAL LINE TO THE POINT
Three Months Later
The Honeyed Hearth feels off the second I walk in. Just…off. Like someone tuned into the back to school emotional frequency and forgot to fix it after work. Still, a honey latte feels like a perfect celebration after the first day of school. A gift of sweetness before I dive into lesson plans.
The bell over the door chimes when I step inside. Immediately, I’m wrapped in warmth and aromatic scents of coffee, cinnamon, bread. Familiar. Safe. I’m scanning the pastry case when a voice strangles on my name. “Amy?”
I freeze for half a beat before turning. My eyes widen fractionally when I recognize Mark Espias—Brennan’s agent and best friend. I don’t say a word as I take him in. All I know is he shouldn’t be in Willow Creek before deciding I don’t care.
I nod in his direction before ordering my usual. “Honey latte. To go, please.”
“Sure thing, Amy.”
Before I can pull out my card, Mark is tapping his. “Let me get that for you.”
I fling a disdainful glance in his direction. “There was no need. I pay my own way.”
Just like I paid my dues.
“I just can’t believe…Wow. It’s—uh—it’s been a long time.”
“It has.” The part of me that’s still bitter over his part in my life’s trajectory wishes I didn’t have a reputation to maintain. I’d so enjoy upending his drink all over his pristine shirt.
He glances at the barista, then back at me. “I didn’t know you lived here.”
“I was born here.”
“I would have thought you would have moved to a big city after school.”
Without missing a beat, I drawl, “Well, y’all kind of made that a bit difficult considering everything that happened senior year.”
“Um, so—how are you?” Bless his heart for persistence.
