Page 4 of Wild Ever After
A truck slows and pulls into my driveway. The HVAC guy I called earlier waves through the open window. I return the gesture and then stand. “Do you want to come wait at my house? It’s kind of a disaster from all the remodeling I’m doing, but it beats sitting on the curb.”
“No. I should go.” She rubs the lacy material of her veil between her finger and thumb and glances over at my place. “That’s always been my favorite house on the block. I love the stonework and how the garage is separate from the house.”
The corner of my mouth pulls into a smile. “Thanks.”
The bones of the house are great, but the inside is stuck in the nineties. It’s going to take all summer to get it into the twenty-first century, but since I recently signed a seven-year contract with the Wildcats, I finally felt ready to put down some roots.
I offer her my hand. After a beat, she slides her delicate fingers over my palm, and I help her up.
“Thank you.”
“I didn’t do anything.” I’m still holding her hand, and it’s damp. Probably from her tears.
“You do that a lot,” she says, taking her hand back and rounding the front of her Beetle.
“Do what?”
“Dismiss the nice things you do for people.”
Her statement leaves me with nothing but questions. Like what nice things? And how did she notice? But she ducks into her vehicle before I can ask them.
* * *
A couple of days later, I meet up with the guys at the rink to do some skating. We’re in the off-season, but after a blowout loss in the final round of the playoffs, we’re all itching to get back to work. It’s the second year in a row we’ve gotten so close that we could taste it.
I’m not getting any younger. At twenty-eight, I just inked what could very well be my last NHL contract. I spent so many years digging in, proving my worth as a player and a leader, that I never considered what comes next. But now, I’m beginning to wonder what I’ll have waiting for me when it’s all over.
A lot of guys start side hustles at this point in their career. They invest in real estate, sign lucrative endorsement deals, or make connections with all the right people. I’ve stayed out of the limelight. My reputation is mostly good and mostly centered around hockey. I don’t date (not anything high profile enough to earn me a spot in the tabloids—not anymore, at least), I don’t show up to high-visibility events, and I don’t generally talk to the media, unless it’s sound bites before or after a game.
I’m not good at all the extra stuff that comes with being a hockey player. There are so many interviews—before the game, after, pre-season, post. Not to mention the media outlets hungry for some juicy new headline. And don’t even get me started on the events. Most of them are for a good cause, but the sheer number of invites to charity auctions and grand openings for bars and other local small businesses blows my mind.
My game has always spoken for itself. I’m lucky that way, I guess. But as I think about starting my eighth year in the league, those ‘what’s next’ questions are starting to plague me. Maybe if I put myself out there more, I’d get more endorsement opportunities. The thought is tempting, but not enough to make me say yes to any of the invites sitting in my inbox.
“You guys want to grab a beer tonight?” Leo asks when we exit the ice.
“Definitely,” Tyler says.
The six of us get together at least a few times a week: Leo, Ash, Jack, Tyler, Maverick, and me. A few other teammates come out occasionally, but these are the guys that I know have my back no matter what.
I drop onto the bench as I catch my breath and use the hem of my jersey to wipe the sweat from my brow. “I’m in.”
“Hold up.” Ash runs his fingers through his wet hair. He’s been letting it grow the past two years and it’s long enough that he pulls it up into a little man bun, which he does now, using a hot pink hair tie. Then he points to Leo and Tyler as he narrows his gaze. “The two of you are the last to suggest a guys’ night these days.”
“It’s Jade’s bachelorette party,” Jack pipes in. “The girls are out of town tonight.”
Jade’s bachelorette party.I guess it was cold feet. I consider asking Leo for details about what happened and how they worked it out. He’d know, but it feels weird to pry.
“Kota is pumped.” Maverick takes a seat next to me and nods to Leo. “Thank Scarlett for me. It was nice of them to invite her.”
“Yeah, man. Of course.” Leo waves him off.
“Kota, we all like,” Jack says. “It’s you we want to trade.”
Maverick chuckles. “I’m too tired to kick your ass right now.”
“Sure, Rookie.” Jack grins.
“We’re not rookies anymore,” Tyler says, with a hint of pride—well-deserved at that, he and Maverick both had great first seasons.
