Page 1 of The Final Draft

CHAPTER

ONE

HARPER

I never expected to see my life packed into a storage unit, but there it is. The container sits in the driveway filled with all my things. My memories. My belongings. My identity. My twenty-six years packed into totes and boxes.

It’s been a week of ups and downs as I purged, sorted, tossed, and packed. I gave everything the Marie Kondo touch. Does it bring me joy? I kept it. No joy. Out it went. Now I stare at a bunch of totes that should be filled with joy, but in reality, is a hodgepodge of stuff that I don’t know if I love anymore. I don’t know much of anything right now.

I wipe the sweat from my brow as I look at it all stacked in this container that will ship to Raleigh tomorrow. Sweat trickles down my back, and I need another shower. Why is it so hot? Even after ten years of living in Atlanta, you’d think I would get used to the heat and humidity. Spoiler alert: I haven’t. And moving in the middle of a sweltering summer heatwave was not on my bingo card this year, but yet, here I am.

Lawson adds a box labeled “stuff” to the container, and I shake my head, not really in disbelief, because I’m not surprised. Rather, it’s acceptance of his lack of organizational skills. I wonder what he calls stuff. It could be anything from pictures to books to underwear. It’s not hockey-related because that “stuff” is packed into his luxury Jeep Grand Cherokee. When it comes to hockey, he’s got it. The other details aren’t exactly his specialty. Besides, we both know he won’t be the one unpacking these boxes when the time comes.

“That’s the last of it,” he says. He pulls the sliding door down and latches it. The sound startles me and punctuates the reality of this moment. He lays his arm across my shoulders as we stand side by side, looking at the closed container.

“Yep.”

“I’m sorry, Harps. I know you don’t want to leave.” He pulls me in a little tighter, his brotherly love surrounding me. “I meant it when I said you can stay.” He sighs, his regret filling the moment. “I hate that you’re doing this because of me. It breaks my heart to see you look so sad.”

I am sad, but not for the reasons he thinks. This house became my home after a drunk driver tragically killed my parents in Minnesota when I was a sophomore in high school. At twenty-two years old, Lawson’s life took an extraordinary turn as he made his NHL debut and assumed the role of legal guardian for his sixteen-year-old orphan sister within months of each other. It was a hell of a year for both of us.

When I came to live with him, he bought this house in the suburbs and did his best to give me an excellent high school experience while balancing his new hockey career. He became a surrogate parent overnight. It was unconventional and not what either of us wanted, but we made it work. We had to. Lawson made Atlanta my home. And now, it’s not. While I’m anxious about this next step for me, I’m sad for him. And angry. Afterten years of playing hockey for Atlanta, six as captain, multiple playoff seasons, and one Stanley Cup, they traded him to the Carolina Renegades. Gone are the days of loyalty and franchise players, I guess. With one phone call and a stroke of a pen, he lost another family: his team. Just like that. No warning. No idea it was coming. To say it shocked him is an understatement.

We were wrapping up a lazy summer and driving back from a beach trip in Charleston when he got a call from his agent notifying him of the change. No call from the team owner, his coach, nothing. It was like the call he got the night our parents died. Out of the blue, totally unexpected, and so unbelievable, the news had to be repeated several times for it to sink in.

He considered retiring, but I wouldn’t hear of it. He loves hockey, and I won’t let him quit because of me. I’ve impacted his life too much as it is. He’s a damn-talented hockey player and can lead a team to Lord Stanley again. There's no question about it.

It’s time for me to stand on my own two feet. I put on my strong facade for Lawson and reach up to take his hand draped over my shoulder.

“I’m not sad. We’re going to be fine. We’re Cartwrights.”

He bends down and kisses the top of my head.

“Damn right we are.”

We walk back into a shell of a house. Everything that made it a home is gone. We packed all our personal belongings but left the furniture for now. It feels sterile. Empty. We left the big stuff because it will look better furnished when we choose to sell. Besides, neither of us is going into our own place for now, and well, we aren’t ready to say goodbye to this house yet. Moving out in stages is a slow goodbye, a kind of goodbye we aren’t familiar with. I’m realizing I hate goodbyes all-together.

Lawson’s phone vibrates on the counter, and he answers it on speaker. “Hey man, you calling to tell me you’ve changed yourmind about having a roommate?” Lawson chuckles, but the full-on laugh coming through the speaker is all Chance Fuller.

“No way. Just wanted you to know I decorated your room in Golden Bears colors, in case you needed to coordinate your stuffie. You can make room for your shit around all my old trophies.” They both laugh.

Chance and Lawson were high school rivals back in the day. We grew up in small towns that revolved around hockey. Texas might have Friday night football, but Minnesota lives for hockey. The mention of Minnesota is another reminder of everything we’ve been through.

Chance is the captain of the Carolina Renegades, Lawson’s new team. Getting traded so close to camp didn’t give Lawson much time to find a place to live and get everything in order. Especially when I’m part of everything.

Chance was the first person to call after the news broke. He welcomed Lawson to the team and into his home. They’re going to be roomies for the foreseeable future. They played together their rookie year in the AHL and became good friends despite their previous rivalry.

“I hope Darcy doesn’t hear about that room,” I say. “She’ll be up there so fast you won’t know what to do.” Darcy is a mutual friend and an amazing interior designer. She designed Chance’s beach house and did work at our house too. I look around and another wave of sadness hits me because most of her touches are erased, packed in a metal container in the driveway.

“Maybe I’ll bring her with me,” Lawson teases.

“Like Matt would let her around you again,” Chance says. “He changes the channel every time your damn Jeep commercial comes on.” His laughter fills the room.

“Hey, I was nothing but hospitable to a friend of yours in need. Is this what I should expect this year - you busting my balls?”

“Sounds about right,” Chance adds. “Hey, Harper, you set for your big move?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” I try to add excitement to my voice, but I fail, and it falls flat. Lawson looks at me warily. Tomorrow Lawson and I are going our separate ways.

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