There’s a pause that I don’t rush to fill. I asked a direct question and want a direct response. So I’ll wait for it.
I hear him suck air into his nose and hem then haw before he finally relents. “The choice of retiring or playing isn’t yours anymore. It’s theirs. You can talk shit, but when you talk about your own teammates, me as the coach, or the owners, it doesn’t go over well with the organization.”
“I don’t lie.”
“If you want to put skates on the ice again, learn to lie and eat some humble pie and finger weenies. The league wants family-friendly. And you’re not for the audience. You have until the Fourth to show the bosses that you’re a new man. Bring a date to soften the image because your image is a fucking catastrophe right now.” He takes another breath before he asks, “Do you hear what I’m saying, Daniel?”
“I hear you. Put on a good PR show, or I’m going to be retired without having a say.”
“That’s it, man. The league is changing. You either change with it or get left behind. It’s up to you now.”
I drop my phone in my pocket, keeping my eyes forward while my head spins. I thought I had time to figure this out, to have a say in my own future, but it doesn’t seem like I do. “Soften my image?” I laugh, but find no humor in it.
My shoulder is touched by a warm hand that rubs gently as Summer comes to stand next to me. “Everything alright?” she asks, looking up at me.
She has enough going on. This isn’t something that needs to burden her. “Fine. All good.” I turn to look back at the house. “So what is the plan?”
“We wait until we get our local guys out here in a few days.” Hooking her finger through my belt loop like she did earlier, she tries to tug me close. When my body doesn’t pull forward as she intended, she closes the gap. “Looks like you’re staying with me.”
“I think that’s a great fucking plan.”
CHAPTER 12
DANIEL
The beer is cold, and the view is worth every penny. I take another long pull from the bottle of lager, causing the back of my head to tap against the Adirondack chair. Roman was just mastering the art of skipping rocks when the wind picked up, and the water grew rougher. “Good job, buddy.”
Summer went to retrieve him so we could grill hot dogs for lunch, giving me time to think about the confusing call with Coach. Why in the fuck would they want me not playing to my full potential?
“What’s on your mind?” she asks, sitting beside me.
“Fine.”
She laughs. “Daniel?”
Her voice startles me from my thoughts. “What?”
“You answered fine to me asking what’s on your mind.” Sitting forward, she says, “You’ve muttered the f-word twice and said Coach under your breath at least three times. I also heard ‘soft’ in there. So let me try this again. What’s on your mind?” She sits back and crosses her legs at the ankles.
Her eyes pivot to Roman regularly, like he’s her own, butwhen she looks at me, I can tell her attention is fully mine. It settles a piece in my chest I didn’t know was out of sync. Roman is my world, but her presence is bigger and more important than either of us could have anticipated. It’s like I have an ally for the first time in my life.
Most people don’t stick around, or I don’t let them. I find myself wanting Summer’s company, though. Accepting her like we’ve known each other for years instead of days.
“I came to the Cove to spend time with Roman out of the spotlight. It’s hard to walk around sometimes without getting recognized. I didn’t want that to invade our time together. But I also had some searching to do.”
“Soul-searching, or are you looking for something?”
Leaning forward to match her, I reach over and rub her knee. “Both. I had a decision to make, but that’s been taken out of my hands. It will now be made for me.”
She angles closer as if to protect Roman from overhearing. “I don’t understand.”
“I could play until I’m forty, even forty-five if I can keep my body from losing for me.” With rapt attention, she listens as if this is personal for her. “I’ve been told I’m too aggressive on the ice. My teammates are more kumbaya these days than competitive. I’m not from this generation. I play to win. Whatever it takes. I play my best every game, to get my team one step closer to winning the Stanley Cup again.” I grip the bottle harder as Coach’s words run on repeat through my head. “I’m supposed to put on a good PR show.”
“Why?”
“To show the bad boy of hockey is a reformed man, to soften my image, and make the game more family-friendly to grow the TV audience, according to the owners. That’s where the money is made.”
“Hockeyisfamily . . .” Her gaze drifts away to Roman again. When she looks at me again, she says, “Wait, it is pretty rough. Teeth are flying, blood on the ice. I’ve only caught bits of games, and I know it can be hard to watch sometimes.”
