Page 13 of Hot Stuff
It didn’t crash down on me when I told Jerry I was retiring. I’d fully expected to be crushed by the weight of that decision. Of saying it out loud to someone other than Drake and making it official.
Instead, my heart is thumping with anticipation of seeing Oakley. My steps are light and the only thing I feel leaving the building behind me is relief.
For the last six months my life has been ruled by doctors and tests and scans and the prospect of my career being over. Right now, I don’t have the suffocating feeling that has been my constant since my knees slammed into the boards and my head snapped against the glass.
I feel…
Free.
It’s the only word I can think of. The outcome of my injuries might not be one I want but the results are what they are and now I’m free to move on to what’s next.
Is it being head coach of the Baton Rouge Rogues?
Is that what I want?
I don’t know. Except I can’t deny the thrill that floods my veins. The anticipation of starting a team from scratch. Of guiding them and pushing them to be their best. Of building them up and making them champions.
Oakley wants to make the finals our first year in the league. With the right players, it could be done. I’m not going to delude myself into thinking we can get the pick of the league—I know we can’t, but what we can do is pick the best available and mold them, pull them together and turn them into a game-winning team.
I want that.
Holy fucking shit.
I want that!
And right here, on the sidewalk outside the New York Knights’ front office, I’ve made my decision. I’m searching the street, striding to the curb, my arm raised to flag a cab before I’ve even finished that thought.
In seconds I’m in the back seat giving the cabbie the name of Oakley’s hotel and grinning like a fool.
The sensations racing through me are ones I’ve only found one other place. On the ice.
Yeah, it’s not what I pictured myself doing and if I’m honest I wouldn’t be if I had a choice, but I’m doing it.
Iwantto do it.
I’m going to be the head coach of the National Hockey League’s newest franchise, the Baton Rouge Rogues.
I’m going Rogue.
The Rogue sportswear slogan pops into my head.
Go your own way. Go Rogue.
I’m doing that. I’m going rogue.
I’m still grinning like an idiot when I toss money at the cab driver before he even comes to a complete stop in front of Oakley’s hotel.
My smile outshines the one on the bellboy’s face when he opens my door. I even toss him a twenty as I stride past, not slowing my pace as I head inside.
I can’t get to the elevators fast enough.
I know where I’m going. Oakley gave me her room number before we parted earlier.
Now all I have to do is get upstairs and give her my answer.
I don’t take in the opulent foyer or the exotic flowers in vases on pedestals. I’m single focused, my goal in sight. Reaching the elevator alcove, I stab the up button hard. Twice. I’m itching to get up there and tell her what I’ve decided.
I’m trying not to think about what this means. That I’ll have to leave New York. Leave Shelby. We haven’t lived in a different city since our parents died. And I’m probably worrying over nothing—she’s not a kid now.
