Page 95 of Play Along With Me
I head to the kitchen, locating the bottle of red wine and two of my new wine glasses—still with price tags attached, which I hastily remove. When I return to the living room, Audrey is studying the one personal decoration I've hung—my first professional jersey from Providence, framed on the wall.
"This was your first pro team?" she asks, gesturing to the jersey.
"Yeah," I nod, handing her a glass of wine. "Providence Saints. The AHL affiliate for Boston. I was there for three years before getting called up."
"AHL is like... hockey minor leagues?" she clarifies.
"Basically," I confirm. "One step below the NHL. The place where prospects develop and veterans hang on."
"And you were a prospect," she says, studying the jersey. "Now becoming what you've been working toward."
There's something in her tone—not quite a question, but an observation with weight behind it. She understands, somehow, what this means to me without my having to explain it.
"It's been my whole life," I admit. "Sometimes I still can't believe I'm here, even if I'm just backing up right now."
"But you will play," she says with certainty. "Actually play, not just sit on the bench. I may know nothing about hockey, but I know determination when I see it."
Her confidence in me, stated so matter-of-factly, affects me more than I expected. I take a sip of wine to cover the sudden emotion.
"That's the plan," I say once I've composed myself. "Work my way up from backup, earn a starting spot—here or somewhere else. It's a long road."
"The longest roads are usually worth traveling," Audrey observes, moving to sit on the couch. "Otherwise they wouldn't need to be so long."
"Is that from your novel?" I ask, joining her.
"No, that's original Audrey wisdom," she grins. "Free of charge. The novel wisdom costs extra."
I laugh, relaxing into the cushions beside her. There's space between us—not touching, but close enough that I could reach for her hand if I wanted to. I do want to, but something about being here, in my private space rather than a public restaurant, makes everything feel more significant.
"Speaking of the novel," I say, genuinely curious, "how's it coming along? You mentioned you'd been working on it for a while."
Audrey takes a long sip of wine before answering. "It's... progressing. Slowly. I actually had a breakthrough with Chapter Seven last night, which is more progress than I've made in months."
"That's great," I say. "What was the breakthrough?"
"I realized my protagonist was so focused on preventing other people's regrets that she wasn't addressing her ownpotential regrets," Audrey explains, staring into her wine glass. "She was using her ability—seeing regrets before they happen—as a way to avoid dealing with her own life."
Something about the way she says this makes me think we're not just talking about her character anymore.
"Sounds familiar," I observe gently.
Audrey looks up, a rueful smile playing at her lips. "Painfully. Writers tend to work through their own issues via fictional proxies. It's cheaper than therapy and you get to control the outcomes."
"And what outcome are you hoping for?" I ask. "For your character, I mean."
"I think," she says slowly, "that she needs to stop avoiding her own life out of fear of what might go wrong. Start embracing possibilities instead of running from them."
Our eyes meet, and the subtext is impossible to miss. Audrey sets her wine glass on the coffee table, turning slightly to face me more directly.
"What about you, Jake? What outcome are you hoping for?"
The question hangs between us, laden with meaning beyond her words. I set my own glass down, shifting closer to her on the couch.
"Professionally? I want to establish myself in the NHL, eventually become a starting goalie, have a career I can be proud of."
"And personally?" she prompts quietly.
"Personally," I say, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering against her cheek, "I'm starting to think there might be more to life than justhockey. Something—someone—worth making space for, even with everything else going on."
