CHAPTER ONE
I KNOW THAT LAUGH
TULLY
It’s been the perfect Minnesota summer—not just the weather, but the time with my family, the peace andquiet. I needed it desperately.
Hockey season is almost nonstop noise. Planes, arenas, reporters, fans banging on glass, the rush of a game, lots and lots of sticks hitting pucks, and—okay, sometimes some fists colliding with hard bodies—and my phone buzzing nonstop.
I love the game, and I love the grind, but this season nearly took me out. My dad was diagnosed with cancer a while back, and he’s been doing well after chemo, but it’s taken a toll on my siblings and me. Every minute I was away from Windy Harbor, I wrestled with worry and guilt. It’s a whole different kind of FOMO when you’re dealing with the scary illness of someone you love.
I had meetings this week in the Twin Cities, so when I drive into Windy Harbor, something in my chest loosens that I didn’t even know was tight. The little town rises ahead of me like a postcard, the colorful, quaint buildings set against asweeping backdrop of water that looks more like ocean than lake.
I grin like a madman when I see Windhaven—the resort Dad wanted to resemble a mini-Rivendell. The view of the beautiful grounds and the top-notch resort against Lake Superior will not get old anytime soon.
I’m not ready to retire from the NHL yet, but it won’t be long. I’m twenty-seven, and in hockey years, that means I’m about to age out. I’d like to go out on top, and when I do, I can’t wait to be in Windy Harbor full-time, helping run the place with my siblings.
I’ve got a great condo in St. Paul, and we have a beautiful home on Summit Avenue there, but the family’s lake house on the water in Windy Harbor is feeling more and more like home.
I turn down the drive, cabins peeking through the trees, the resort up ahead. A couple of kids chase each other with pool noodles near the beach. The sound of their laughter makes me smile.
I park by the resort instead of our house because I think that’s where most of my family is right now. The view of the lake makes me pause and take note. Sunlight scatters like diamonds floating to the surface. So many memories flood back when I’m here. I’m a twin, so I came into this world being uniquely connected to my sister Goldie, and we still are, but we’re also close to our brothers, and this water and these woods are engraved like road maps within the five of us. I think my parents felt that way too, and that’s why, now that my mom is gone and my dad is facing his own mortality, we’re all clinging to this land like a lifeline.
All right, that’s enough deep shit for the day, I tell myself.
I push out of the car, stretch, and roll my shoulders. Everything in me feels lighter already.
Until…
Her laugh hits first. I’d know that sound underwater, in traffic, in a coma. Her laugh has always been one of my favorite things about her. It cuts through the noise now, like it’s fine-tuned for me specifically. I turn without meaning to, already knowing I shouldn’t, but when I do, the lightness in me dies so fast it hurts.
Lola Donavan.
She’s standing near the lodge steps, sunglasses pushed up into her blonde hair, one hand on the strap of a canvas bag. Same soft mouth. Same eyes that always looked like she knew something I didn’t. Same blinding beauty that renders me speechless.
She has more tattoos than the last time I saw her. I want to inspect each one. She’s the one who gave me my first tattoo, but not the last.
She’s the woman who got away.
My heart does this hard, stupid thud like I just got checked into the boards.
I’m about to say hello when a guy walks over to her and puts his hand on her back—no, that’s not quite right, it’s that place that’s so far down her back that it’s almost her ass. A little groan escapes my mouth, but thankfully, they’re not close enough to hear me. He leans in to say something in her ear, and she laughs again.
There’s something familiar about the guy, and I move a little closer and freeze again.
Patrick fucking Martin from the fucking Dallas Suns.
Are you fucking kidding me right now?
He’s the reason we lost the playoffs. Well, that’s not entirely true either, but it’s close. Ever since Dad got sick, I haven’t been performing at my best. Our last game, we played hard—just not hard enough—and Martin and I endedup dropping the gloves. He’d been in my ear all night. That part I could handle. But the hacking at my hands, the cross-checks after whistles…that kind of thing builds. Then he boarded Silas, and something in me just snapped.
I went after him.
He didn’t look much better than I did after, but they still got the win. So all I had to show for it were sore knuckles and a loss that hurt even more.
Don’t react. Don’t react. Just don’t.
I almost laugh. It comes out like a choke instead.
