Page 2 of The Final Draft

I’m moving to New York to pursue my writing career. As fate would have it, on the very day Lawson was traded, I received the incredible news of my acceptance into a prestigious writing program at NYU. It was like fate wanted to split us up with a one-two punch.

When news of Lawson’s trade hit, all his current and former teammates reached out. It’s a testament to the kind of leader and friend Lawson is. Hockey is a tight community, especially for guys like Lawson and Chance who have both phenomenal talent and character. Because they respect him, I’ve always been in their circle of protection. My own band of brothers, as it were.

As soon as Lawson mentioned my move to New York, Zac Burns insisted I stay with him. He’s Lawson’s former teammate and current goalie for the New York Havoc. Apparently, his ex-girlfriend and previous dog sitter recently moved to Brooklyn after an ugly break-up. Now he needs a new dog sitter, especially with the season starting soon.

Zac laid on the sweet talk of how much I’d be helping him out, insisting I’d be less drama than his ex and the deal was done. When I asked if his last dog sitter was just a roommate like me, he laughed and assured me he’s better off with our arrangement. I don't know the entire story, but there's definitely more to it. In exchange for dog-sitting, I’ll be living in a luxury New York apartment building with a doorman.

“You know Burnsy is a good guy,” Lawson says. “And he’ll barely be there. But if he steps out of line, you let us know. Chance and I will take care of him.”

“You know he won’t.” I roll my eyes. There isn’t a guy in the NHL who would step out of line with Lawson’s little sister. A small smile breaks through when I think about my new roommates. “I can’t wait to play with Noodle.”

A choking sound fills the room as Chance tries to catch his breath. “You’re going to play with his noodle? What the fuck, Lawsy? Where are you sending her?”

Lawson and I can’t contain our laughter. “Noodle is his miniature dachshund, you idiot. You know me better than that.” Lawson sighs. “Listen, I’m headed to Raleigh in the morning after I drop Harper at the airport. Should be in around five, just in time for a cold one. Be ready to fire up the grill for our steaks.”

“Absolutely. I’ll have a welcome committee waiting for you. I invited a few of the guys that are around to meet the great Lawson Cartwright,” Chance says with a twinge of humor in his voice.

Hearing this banter, I’m comforted knowing Lawson will be fine with his new team. It softens my anger on his behalf a little. Maybe this move is a blessing in disguise for him. But for me? Time will tell.

The rest of the move’s logistics fell into place quickly after that first call. Our personal belongings are going into storage in Raleigh until Lawson gets a place of his own. I sold my car since I won’t need it in New York, and Lawson insisted I keep the money for “pocket change.”

I hope to make my own money someday from my first book. Or I’ll get a job as a barista. Or a pet sitter. Either way, I can’t live off Lawson forever. Sure, he makes millions, but those millions are precisely what got him traded. Apparently, Atlanta couldn’t afford him anymore and needed money off their salary cap. Lawson doesn’t have many playing years left, so I want him to save for his future.

I hope that this rigorous NYU course will hone my skills to become a published author, opening the door to my dream career. Then I’ll be self-sufficient.

I’ve been writing since my therapist encouraged me to start a journal after my parents died. It became therapeutic for me, an escape from the tragedy in my life. I’d make up stories and use them to deal with my feelings, making sure my characters ended up okay.

The stories were full of fantasy, hope, and happily ever afters. Or at least happy for now. I’d had enough stories with tragic endings, like people dying in car accidents. Writing was my escape from a harsh reality, a place where stories always had happy endings.

Over time, my writing evolved into romance stories, something my life severely lacks. Maybe I should classify myself as a fantasy author at this point because romance and I are exactly that. A fantasy.

New city, new degree, big dreams… this change might be the perfect jumpstart for my career and a whole new life. And maybe New York will be where I find romance? After all, it is called the City of Dreams.

CHAPTER

TWO

JULIAN

I pace across the small office waiting for the professor to arrive. It’s been years since I was in school, and it feels like nothing’s changed, except I’m not in trouble this time. At least I don’t think I am. The offices are still small, musty, and crammed full of old, dusty books. The decrepit wooden desk has probably been in this room since the 1800s.

I’m as anxious as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Fuck. I’m here to meet with the professor of an elite writing program, and that’s the best analogy I can come up with? What am I doing here?

Turning to leave, I collide with a petite Black woman, and I instinctively steady her with a hand on her elbow. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

Her eyes travel from my mid-chest, and her head tilts up as she takes me in. She gives an appreciative look I’ve seen on women before, and I chuckle. I love that she’s not shy about checking me out.

“I’m just fine. And so are you,” she purrs. It never fails to make me laugh. Women are shameless, and frankly, I’m here for it.

She composes herself and shifts into business mode. “You must be Mr. Decker? I’m sorry I’m late. I hope you weren’t waiting long.” She steps past me and enters the room.

“You’re Professor Daniels? You don’t look like your picture.” I’m rarely caught off guard. As the top sports agent in the country, I pride myself on reading people. I can tell who they are, their wants and needs, often before they know themselves. I’m an easy-going, laid-back, allow-people-to-get-comfortable-with-me kind of guy. Couple that with my business acumen and viola, a successful business owner.

“You mean because you thought you’d be meeting an old white man?” She laughs. “I’m Professor Daniels’s assistant, Ramona Spector. He’s running late and asked me to hold your first meeting. You’ll be working with both of us on this project.” She gives me a flirty wink and motions to the chair sitting in front of the desk. “Come in, sit down. I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”

I take a seat as she closes the door and moves behind the desk, clearing a space for her notebook. She looks out of place in this room, adding to her mystery and my confusion.

My anxiety is peaking, and for a guy like me, that speaks volumes. I’m rarely anxious. But right now, I’m on heightened alert. She called me by my name. My actual name. How did she find out? I’m racking my brain for a response. Great, no words.

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