Page 185 of The Fine Line
I’m pacing outside the locker room, running my hands through my hair, glancing down the tunnel every two seconds. Warmups start in fifteen minutes. She has to be here. She can’t avoid me forever.
I’m just about ready to rip my skates off and tear through the entire arena to find her when I see her.
Blonde hair. White blazer. Blue eyes.
My heart stutters.
“Cub,” I breathe. “Please. Can we talk?”
She presses her lips together. “Actually, I was coming to find you to do just that.”
She reaches for my hand, her fingers slipping into mine before tugging me forward.
The knot in my chest loosens slightly. It’s not much, but it’s something. She’s letting me close enough to try.
I open my mouth to speak, but she’s already dragging me down the tunnel.
“They want to pre-record me asking you a few questions for the broadcast,” she says.
I blink, confused—until I spot the cameraman standing near the wall. He gives her a wave.
“Wait, this is why you wanted to talk to me?” I ask, slowing.
“Just doing my job,” she says lightly, letting go of my hand to smooth down the front of her blazer.
“Caroline, please?—”
She lifts a hand, cutting me off, her other hand pressed to her earpiece.
“Yeah, Bryan. I’m in position. One sec.”
She lowers her hand and glances at me. “I just need a minute to run through the questions.”
Before I can answer, she’s already turning her back, furiously typing into her phone. All business.
I step back, dragging both hands through my curls, staring at the ceiling, willing my heart to slow down. When I finally lower my gaze, my eyes land on the jumbotron.
And the breath leaves me.
A “fun fact” animation flashes across the screen:Rhett Sutton played his rookie season with the Chicago Blizzard.
Then the highlight reel begins. Clips of me. From that year.
Number nineteen in red. Loose puck control. Unnecessary fights. Sloppy hits. Then close-ups. My jittery hands. The sniffling. The frantic, hollow lookin my eyes.
I don’t even recognize myself.
I feel bile rise in my throat.
“Rhett?”
I blink and turn at the sound of my name. It takes a few moments to place it.
“Tom.”
He smiles, reaching for a handshake. “How you been?”
I shake his hand automatically. “Good. Yeah. How about you?”
