Page 7 of The Final Draft

Disappointment settles in, but I use it as motivation to complete my character development. Yeah, I’m disappointed. Not about the rejection. My ego isn’t that inflated that I can’t handle a little rejection. No, I’m disappointed because I’d like to get to know Harper more. Genuinely. I shake my head to clear my thoughts and get to work. I’ll have to let my imagination create my character for now.

Professor Daniels said I struggle with female character development. Watch me knock this out of the park.

CHAPTER

FIVE

HARPER

I stare at my laptop, hoping inspiration will jump out at me from my screen. No such luck. I scroll through TikTok to get ideas, and nothing. This is why it took me a year to write my book. Now Professor Daniels thinks I can do this in twelve weeks. He’s a crazy person.

Noodle snuggles in my lap, and I absently play with his floppy ears. His body relaxes, and he turns his head more, granting me better access. “You need to work on subtlety, my friend.” He’s so damn cute, I give him what he wants. I’m a pleaser and apparently that applies to people and dogs. “Come on buddy, time to earn my keep.” I give Noodle one more scratch behind the ears and put him down. “And find inspiration for my hockey player hero.”

As a small thank you to Zac for a place to stay, I offered to cook for him and his friends tonight after their first pre-season game. The guys are adjusting to in-season living again, and while they can eat at the arena, sometimes they like to kick back andrelax without trainers looking over their shoulders and watching their plates. With amped-up workouts, they are burning serious calories. Some call it hockey season, but it’s really pasta season. IYKYK.

Zac and I had a showdown over my insistence on this dinner. He doesn’t want me to do anything for him, adamant I’m his roommate with zero expectations besides Noodle. I can’t help it. I like to do things for people. It’s how I show I care, say thank you. Besides, surrounding myself with hockey players will help me create my character and hone in on those nuances that will make him three dimensional. It’s a win-win.

When I threatened to call Lawson, Zac backed down and said I could cook tonight’s dinner. My brother may not be his captain anymore, but he still has influence, and I’m not above playing dirty to get my way. The Havoc are playing the Renegades in a few weeks, and Zac doesn’t want to be the reason his team gets special attention in the corners.

Once he agreed to let me do things for him, like occasionally cook, he asked for my infamous chicken parmesan. In Atlanta, Lawson often brought the younger guys home with him under the guise of feeding them and team bonding. His ulterior motive was to keep them out of the bars and out of trouble. Lawson failed to realize the guys enjoyed visiting our house because it was a welcoming home, something many of them deeply desired. Most would rather get a home-cooked meal, kick back around the video game system, or perfect their dart game on the back porch, then go back to a nondescript apartment. Didn’t he notice them always calling their moms at our house?

And now here I am, in New York, living with one of those guys a few years later. It may be a fancy apartment, but it still doesn’t feel like a home. Maybe I’ll help Zac there too. I’ll reach out to my designer friend, Darcy. She’ll know what to do.Lawson and I aren’t so different when it comes to taking care of people. It’s our Minnesota values and a Cartwright family trait.

I’m up to my elbows cooking when a text from Julian Decker comes through asking me to dinner. Talk about blown away, and admittingly, I’m confused about his motivation. Maybe it’s at his sister’s request. Maybe his latest actress or model is unavailable. Whatever. I’m sure he’s just being nice, friendly, brotherly even. While I’m appreciative, I don’t have time to daydream about a sexy sports agent. There are hungry hockey players to feed.

The door bangs open, and the Havoc have entered the apartment. Zac and his teammates come in, dropping their bags and shoes at the front door. I can hear the keys hit the bowl on the entry table.

“Hi honey, I’m home!” someone calls out. There’s a muffled “umph” and laughter coming from the foyer.

Someone quietly says, “Dude, that’s Lawson Cartwright’s sister. Watch it.” Another sound of tussling and laughter further announces their arrival.

Noodle comes out of hiding to greet the visitors, but at the sound of a loud thud, he makes a U-turn and lays across my feet. I pick him up and go nose to nose with him. “Hockey boys,” I say, like he understands.

“Hey, Carty Junior. Smells great,” Zac says in greeting as he enters the kitchen. Hockey players love nicknames, and several years ago, Zac stuck me with this one. Sometimes he calls me CJ for short. This affectionate moniker makes me part of the team, I guess, and I’m honored. When I meet new players, I usually have to look at rosters to figure out their real names. I’m not sure who will be here tonight, but I’m willing to bet I won’t get government names from any of them.

Zac reaches to take Noodle from me, and the dog snuggles in. “Guess I know who he likes better.” The missing front tooth makes his grin almost childlike and disarming. Zac uses hisboyish charm to give him the innocent boy-next-door persona. He’s intense on the ice with pucks flying at him, but off the ice, he’s a kid at heart with a tiny dog that he adores.

“He knows I’m a softie.”

Three other guys enter the kitchen, making it feel smaller, because the four huge hockey players take up all the space. They watch our exchange with amusement. I’m not sure what they think’s going on, but I can assure you, it’s not. Zac’s a nice guy, but he’s a friend. This isn’t a forced-proximity, one bed romance trope, so they can squash that idea. I have my own room and don’t even feel the need to lock the door. I’m safe with Zac.

“CJ, this is Harvard, Jetsy, and Mac. Boys, this is Harper Cartwright.” They don’t even question my nickname.

“Thanks for doing this,” Mac says. “I’m starving.” It takes me a beat to understand him because of his heavy French accent. He steps closer to the stove and takes the lid off the marinara. “Ohmygod, this smells incredible.”

“Can you be my dog walker too?” Harvard asks as he eyes the food. Bruises cover his ruggedly handsome face, and his eye is swelling shut. It’s an occupational hazard of a defenseman.

“You don’t even have a dog,” Zac replies.

“I’d get one if she’d cook for me like this,” Harvard answers.

“Enjoy your time in the sin bin?” I ask. The game was on in the background, and I caught a few highlights. His eye shows exactly how his night went. I hand the spoon to Mac to stir the marinara and make an ice pack for Harvard’s eye.

“He knocked Burnsy on his ass.” He shrugs like it was just another day in the office, and knocking down the goalie explains everything. Which it kinda does. “I’d do it again if I had to.”

“And you will next game and the game after that,” I tell him as I hand him the baggie with ice and point to his eye. No one touches your goalie. It’s a cardinal rule in hockey.

“Boys, give me two minutes. Grab beverages and head to the table. And there’s plenty, so don’t be shy.” They rummage through the refrigerator for beers and sodas and leave me to dish up their food. “Off you go,” I say to Noodle, and he waddles over to his bed and curls up. He’s clearly over this excitement.

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