“You don’t seem overly happy for a rookie who’s taking the NHL by storm.” Ice sat down next to me at a table in the team lounge.
I glanced up at my captain, ready to deny I was anything but ecstatic, only no words came. Ice didn’t tolerate bullshit, and by the look on his face, any protest on my part would be just that. He saw right through me. The room was empty. I doubted anyone else would be crazy enough to be at the practice facility after the practice we’d had. They’d scattered to nurse their wounds or drink them into oblivion.
I needed someone to talk to. I didn’t dare talk to Uncle Coop. He was in his first year of coaching and super-focused on doing a good job himself. He wouldn’t understand why I was feeling anything but giddy.
“You noticed?” I said.
“I notice everything.” Ice took a sip of his coffee and studied me without saying a word.
“I don’t want to sound like I’m an entitled, ungrateful asshole.”
“Well, we all sound like that at times, so fess up. What’s going on?” Ice wasn’t the touchy-feely type, nor was he talkative. The fact that he was sitting here with me having a conversation that didn’t focus on hockey was highly unusual. He was the captain, and he took it seriously, so he was doing his job. I tried not to read any more into his concern than an overall interest in his team’s well-being.
“I don’t know. I feel off. I thought making it to the NHL would be everything I’d ever dreamed of. I’ve worked so hard for this. Now that I’m here, I’m looking around and wondering shouldn’t there be more? I’m empty inside. Something’s missing, and I’m pissed at myself that hockey isn’t enough. Don’t get me wrong, I love hockey. I live for hockey, but there has to be more, doesn’t there? I gave up a lot to be here.” I hadn’t planned on dumping on him like that, but the words came out before I could stop them.
He considered my words for several seconds before speaking. “Did you give up someone special?” he guessed. The hard lines of his face softened slightly.
I blinked a few times, ready to deny his claim, then really thought about it. “I don’t know.”
He nodded sagely, as if he understood totally. I knew he was madly in love with his wife. Whenever she was in the room, this enigmatic, hard-to-read man turned into a sappy, lovesick fool.
“There was this girl when I was sixteen, had two years left of high school. I walked away from her, thinking hockey was all I needed. I tracked her down a couple years ago. She’s married with kids, and I can’t stop thinking her husband has my life, the life I should’ve had. It’s weird.”
“It’s not weird. All the money and fame and even your passion for hockey don’t mean much without someone to share it with. Take it from a guy who knows.”
“Do you ever wonder about the road not taken?” I asked him.
“Not much anymore because the road I travelled ended up being the best journey I could imagine, and I wouldn’t change a thing, not even the painful parts, because it got me where I am today. She’s your past. You need to live your present. There’ll be someone else, someone even more perfect for you. You have to believe in fate. When you’re least looking for love, it finds you.”
Well, I wasn’t looking. I must’ve been gaping at him with an open mouth and something akin to shock because he chuckled.
“If you tell anyone about this conversation, I’ll kick your ass,” he said.
“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t dream of it.”
With a nod, he stood and left the room. I watched him go, deep in thought. I was twenty-three. I was a Puck Brother, for fuck’s sake. I didn’t need a woman to complete me or nag at me or try to control me. This entire conversation with Ice had been like something out of those old Twilight Zone shows Steele liked to watch.
What the fuck was wrong with me?
I didn’t know why I wasn’t enjoying the rookie experience as much as I should be, but that emptiness inside me had nothing to do with a woman. Maybe more like wanting something I couldn’t have. Some deeply buried part of me had always assumed Caro would be waiting when I chose to come back and claim her.
The entire thing had been eating at me lately, and my feelings on the matter were ludicrous.
With a sigh, I pushed to my feet. Time to go home and see what culinary delight Kaden had concocted. The man could cook.
I walked wearily to my truck. I did need a nap.
I slipped into the leather seat of my Chevy 2500HD and started the engine. It purred like the finely tuned machine it was. I don’t know why I bought this truck. It wasn’t like I pulled a trailer or hauled heavy shit with it. My ego must’ve been talking when I’d gone car shopping after getting my signing bonus.
I went home to the condo and hung out with Steele for the night, playing video games and watching a game.
I was about to call it a night when my phone rang. I frowned at the device. When someone called this late, it wasn’t necessarily good. Maybe one of the Puck Bros had been arrested and needed bailed out.
I picked it up. Not recognizing the number, I considered letting it go to voicemail, but I was inexplicably compelled to answer that call.
“Yeah?” I said, waiting to chew some solicitor’s ass. A long silence followed. I almost hung up but didn’t.
“Easton?” The hesitant female voice struck a nerve deep inside me, bringing back melancholy memories of another time and place. I knew that voice, but I was in denial.
“Yeah.” Suspicion crept into my tone. Had some recent one-night stand managed to get my phone number? There’d been a few. Not a ot, but enough to keep my standing as a Puck Brother intact.
“It’s—it’s Caroline. Caroline Mills, uh, Jones.”
I gaped at the phone as if I expected a monster to emerge from the screen and swallow me in one big gulp. My palm was sweaty, and the device started to slip from my hand. I fumbled to catch it before it hit the floorboard.
Caroline?
I gripped the phone until my knuckles were white. My breathing was rapid and shallow like I was about to have a fucking panic attack or exhibit some stupid wussy behavior my teammates would be appalled to witness. A quick glance around the room didn’t reveal my roommates had appeared out of the woodwork to witness my loss of composure and near breakdown. I unclenched my hand from the phone before I crushed it. My fucking hands were shaking. My forehead had broken out in a sweat.
I had to be coming down with the flu. A voice from the past wouldn’t affect me like this.
I cleared my throat, praying my tone didn’t betray my emotions, uh, correction, the state of my health. “Caro, what a surprise.”
I gave myself a mental pat on the back. I’d given nothing away.
“I’m sure it is.”
“How did you get my number?” I wondered out loud.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.
Leave a Reply