Page 4 of Hot Puck
In a cruel twist of fate, only weeks after the newest member of the Hawkins family joined the world, Mitch Hawkins was on his way home from the hospital where his wife lay dying of cancer when he was hit head-on by a drunk driver.
The death of Sienna Hawkins had been expected—anticipated in a macabre way. Not Mitch’s.
His untimely death rocked the grieving Hawkins family to the bones.
And left Chase the guardian of his three younger sisters. One only a baby.
I’m not sure how I’m going to convince him to uproot himself and his siblings for a move to Baton Rouge. They’ve experienced so much change in the last few months. So much devastation.
Is the offer we have really good for them?
I’ve been over it again and again. Hashed it out seven ways from Sunday on my own, with the girls, as well as a few other trusted advisors, and as much as I don’t want to cause any of the people living in this house more change, the consensus of all is to make the offer.
Taking a final fortifying breath of cool air, I switch off the rental car and climb out. It’s hot, not as hot as the south, but still warm enough to warrant air conditioning.
My gaze sweeps over the area as I make my way to the sidewalk. The yard is overgrown, the garden beds full of weeds instead of flowers, and there’s a few things hanging out of the mailbox.
The urge to pull the mail from that box and take it inside—sort it out and take care of it to lift one small thing from Chase’s shoulders—sweeps through me.
I clench my fists and keep walking.
If he’s receptive to listening to our offer, if he even considers it, I’ll gladly spend a few extra days in St. Paul helping organize anything he needs help with.
Jerked to a stop, I look down to find my heel stuck in a crack in the pavement. I have to give it a good hard yank to pull it free, and to be safe, I slip the shoe off and examine the heel.
Luckily it doesn’t appear to have any damage, and I slide my foot back in and take a careful step toward the house.
When my other foot wobbles on another crack, I stop and frown at the path beneath my feet, study the front yard with more care.
Even if Chase shuts the door in my face today, I’ll find a local landscaping company—pay them from my own pocket—to come clean things up, mow the lawns, tidy the garden beds, plant some low maintenance flowers.
The backyard too.
The kids need a safe place to play.
Decision made, I head for the house again, but when my foot wobbles on another crack I slow my pace, shake my head, and mutter, “Shouldn’t have worn heels.”
Although my shoes aren’t wedge heels, they’re not stilettos either, and shouldn’t have this much trouble walking along a path, even a cracked and crumbling one.
I might not know how to approach this meeting with Chase but I’m still the general manager of the Baton Rouge Rogues, newest NHL franchise, here to offer him a lucrative contract with the team and as such, this morning, before I left the hotel, I dressed for business.
Power suit skirt—no need for the jacket in this heat—in a deep, almost black blue, a starched white blouse in a thick fabric that isn’t see-through even when wet, and my favorite pair of two-inch Dior heels.
Another glance around the neighborhood has me wondering if jeans and a t-shirt might have been a more appropriate choice. After all, I am meeting with Chase in his home. Without notice.
Too late to second guess my wardrobe choice now, I shake off concerns about my outfit and walk up the steps to the porch.
There’s a stroller to the left of the door, a blanket and a few baby toys in the seat. To the right, a two-person glider that looks worn in and comfortable, and farther along the porch a small table sits between a couple of rocking chairs.
The yard and front path might be an unkept mess, but the house itself isn’t. The paint isn’t peeling, the windows are sparkly clean, and the stairs and porch floor don’t creak when I walk on them.
If you ignore the uncut grass, unweeded garden beds, and crumbling walkway, the house is the picture-perfect suburban family home. And I know the Hawkins family has lived within its walls from the day Mitchell Hawkins married Sienna Durum and moved his new wife in.
A niggle of doubt tugs at my belly.
Accepting our offer would pull the Hawkins children from the only home they’ve ever known.
The conflicting emotions I feel about offering Chase a pivotal spot on the Rogues is something I’ve never dealt with. Once I make a business decision, I stick to it. Forge ahead until I get what I want, how I want it.
