Page 107 of Pucking Forbidden

The air leaves my lungs in a sharp, sudden rush. I stare at her, my heart hammering against my ribs. “What?”

“You think it’s ok abandoning the Night Hawks for the Ironclads,” she states. “I understand why you’re doing it. You’re a free agent now. I’m old, Julian. I am not stupid. You’re trying to negotiate a move back here, but it’s a mistake.”

I swallow hard and shake my head, clasping and unclasping my hands in my lap.

“I’m doing it for you,” I murmur, my voice rough.

“For me?” She furrows her brow. “What does that mean?”

I let out a breath and shake my head. “Look at you, Grams. You’re pale. Tired. Leaning on the counters when you think I’m not looking. You’re splitting your posture because you’re in pain. You’re sick, and you’re alone in this house. I can’t be in Denver while you’re…”

“Julian!”

Her voice snaps through the air, cutting me off. Anger flashes in her eyes, but it dissolves in an instant and is replaced by a deep weariness that makes my stomach drop. She steps forward and takes a seat next to me, reaching out to grab my hands. Her skin is paper-thin and cool, but her grip is firm.

“Listen to me,” she whispers, her eyes searching mine. “I’m an old woman. I’ve lived a full, beautiful life. I loved my husband, I built a home, and I have lived the way I wanted to. I do not want you making life-altering decisions out of a misplaced sense of guilt or obligation to me. I’m fine. My arthritis has gotten a little worse, and I got new meds I needed to get used to, but that’s it. I’m healthy as a horse.”

“It’s not an obligation,” I choke out. “You saved my life.”

“And you filled mine,” she counters, a tear welling in the corner of her eye before she brushes it away. “Because of you. Because of that stubborn, bruised little boy who refused to let the world break him, the later years of my life have had purpose. They’ve been full of love. I consider you my son, Julian. I love you more than words can say. Which is why I need you to stop worrying about me and live your own life.”

Her words hit me like a lead weight. I look down at our joined hands, my chest heaving as I fight the suffocating pressure in my lungs.

“And,” she continues, her voice softening, her thumb rubbing the back of my calloused knuckles. “Your life, Julian? That isn't here in Chicago. It’s in Denver…with Hadley.”

I let out a long, ragged sigh, shaking my head as the reality of my situation crashes back down. “None of it is simple, Grams. You don’t understand. Hadley is twenty-one. She’s younger than me. She’s Coach’s granddaughter. She’s as off-limits to me as a woman can get. Besides, I’m broken. I’m a mess. I don’t see how any of this will actually work long-term. I’m an acquired taste, and not a good one. She won’t want this long-term. Plus, my team doesn’t really need me. They’ve already got a fresh new guy to step in and take my place. Chicago would also make it easier to have financial stability when I retire. I just…”

Before I can finish, Mrs. Clay drops my hands, her expression hardening.

“I’m disappointed in you, Julian,” she murmurs.

I blink, stunned. “What?”

“I didn’t raise you to be a coward,” she says, her voice ringing with an absolute, undeniable authority. “I didn’t push you toward hockey because I wanted you to make money…I did it because you love hockey. And I didn't teach you to just sit back, fold your hands, and let life happen to you because you’re too afraid of getting hurt. I taught you to live your life. To fight for it. That girl up there? She is wonderful. And if you walk away from her because you’re too chicken-shit to risk your own heart, then I failed you.”

She turns her back on me, grabbing her mug of tea from the counter. Without looking at me, she walks out of the kitchen.

The gray Chicago traffic is a blur outside the windshield of Mrs. Clay’s old Toyota Corolla. I borrowed it since our conversation actually made me miss my train. Her words echo over and over in my head. Live your life. Fight for it.

By the time I pull up to the upscale, private diner near the Ironclad’s stadium, my jaw is clenched so tight my teeth ache. I kill the engine, staring at my reflection in the rearview mirror. I look fucking wrecked. He suggested the diner for a more ‘laid back’ conversation.

More likely, he’s trying to make me feel more relaxed so I’m easier to convince to sign on the dotted line.

Sighing, I shake my head and get out of the car and head to the diner. I push open the heavy glass front door, and the smell of expensive coffee, maple syrup, and polished leather hits me. As soon as I walk in, I see Coach Williams sitting in a booth towards the back. Another man is with him, but he stands as soon as he spots me, says something to Williams, and hurries to leave. He gives me a polite smile as he passes by.

Looking around, I wouldn’t exactly call this place a diner. It’s a Michelin-star restaurant masquerading as a diner. Not like the place we go to get burgers back in Denver. That place is warm, comfortable, and lived in. This place makes me feel on edge…Like I need to be careful of what I touch or where I step so I don’t accidentally break something.

Coach Williams is wearing a tailored navy suit that probably costs more than my truck. A thick gold championship ring on his finger catches the light as he takes a sip of coffee. I have one too, but I don’t go wearing it around like a regular piece of jewelry. When he spots me, he gives me a smile that is more calculating than friendly. That doesn’t exactly surprise me.

“Julian,” he declares as he stands up to shake my hand. “I’m glad we could finally arrange this follow-up. My assistant, Stetson, who just walked out, was dropping off a copy of the contract.”

When he lets me go, I slide into the booth opposite him, keeping my posture rigid, my hands flat on the table. “Coach Williams, nice to see you again.”

“So, you’ve had a chance to look over the paperwork,” Williams says, leaning forward, resting his forearms on the white tablecloth. “As you know, we’ve already cleared the cap space for a mid-season transfer. If you sign the intent today, our legal teams can have the paperwork finalized before the holiday weekend is over. You can be in an Ironclad sweater by next Friday. We’ll handle the relocation; we’ll handle your apartment downtown, everything. We take care of our own here, Julian.”

I regard Williams for a few moments in silence. Before Hadley, this deal would have been my holy grail. It would have meant safety, money, stability, and the chance to be close to the only woman who ever loved me like a son. It would have meant securing a future while I still have time to do so.

But as I stare at it now, all I can see is Hadley.