Page 60 of Hard Check

The words hit like a body check I hadn't seen coming. "So that's it? I get good news about my career, and we're suddenly temporary?"

"We were always temporary." It was his brain talking, but something in his tone suggested he was trying to convince his heart as much as me. "You're twenty-three with an NHL future. I'm thirty-one with—" He shook his head. "This was never going to be forever."

I stared at the man who'd just worshipped my body with the reverence of someone who had all the time in the world. He was now talking like he'd always knew a breakup was inevitable.

I sat up fully, suddenly aware of my nakedness in a way I hadn't been moments before. "You don't get to hear about my camp invitation and immediately start writing our obituary."

"I'm being realistic—"

"You're scared." It was a brutally true accusation. "You're terrified that maybe this thing between us is real enough to survive me having options."

"Don't."

"Don't what? Don't point out that you're already pushing me away before I've even left? Don't notice that you've gone from 'I'm proud of you' to 'we were always temporary' in two minutes?"

He stood abruptly, retrieving his discarded shirt from the floor and pulling it over his head. "You should go."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. You've got a new life to work out. There are big decisions to make." His voice was flat and professional. It was only November, and the camp was in July, but he was already walking away. "I don't want to complicate any of it for you."

I dressed in stunned silence. At the door, I paused with my hand on the knob. "For what it's worth, this morning, when I got the news? My first thought wasn't about the NHL or my career or any of that. It was about how I was going to tell you. How we were going to figure out our future together."

He didn't turn around, but I saw his reflection in the window—his eyes were closed, and his shoulders slumped forward.

"That was my first thought," I repeated. "Not how to leave, but how to stay. Remember that when you're lying awake tonight, convincing yourself this was always just temporary."

The door closed behind me with a soft click that sounded far too final.

Outside, I sat in my car for several minutes, hands gripping the steering wheel, watching Carver's window for any sign of movement. The light stayed on, but he never appeared.

Why does this feel like the beginning of the end instead of a new beginning?

The question followed me home through empty streets. I'd gotten everything I'd always wanted—the invitation, the opportunity, and the chance to prove I belonged at the highest level.

So why did it feel like I'd just lost the only thing that really mattered?

Chapter fifteen

Carver

Ileanedagainstthetunnelentrance post-practice, miming checking my cell phone, but really watching the usual controlled chaos unfold. Then, the info leaked.

It started with Monroe suddenly straightening and turning toward Pike's stall. Then Mercier's voice cut through the ambient noise. It was a rare deviation from his stoic tone.

"Holy shit, Pike. Syracuse? For real?"

The words hit me like a puck to the solar plexus. Of course, I knew before the rest of the team, but it struck me differently.

A ripple of congratulations started spreading outward like rings in disturbed water. NHL rookie camp. I forced myself to keep staring at my phone screen, scanning meaningless text messages and weather updates.

Mercier wrapped Pike in one of those awkward hockey hugs—all shoulder pads and a careful stance to avoid catching equipment on equipment. "Knew you were going places. The question was never if, only when."

Pride was my first reaction. It always was with Pike—that instinctive surge of satisfaction when someone I'd invested time in succeeded. He'd earned the invitation. The kid deserved his shot.

Next was a second wave, the emotional one that left me gripping my phone hard enough to crack the screen.

He's leaving.

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