Page 48 of A Million Times, Yes

Me:You’re all mine.

I shoved the phone into my pocket and opened the door for my brother. “Yes. I hear you.”

“Do you really?” He walked out. “Because I get the sense you’re thinking with everythingbutyour brain.”

We met our assistant in the hallway, where she was waiting by the private elevator. Her hair always grabbed my attention, a mane of blond springs she attempted to tame but had a mind of their own.

“My brain says you need to relax,” I told him.

“Why don’t you ask Carrie’s opinion?” Gavin clasped my shoulder. “I’m in a two-against-one kind of mood.”

Carrie had worked for us for four years. Her NDA was so ironclad, we could say anything we wanted in front of her. And we did.

I held the elevator for her and my brother before I stepped in after them. “It’s funny—he callsmethe asshole, but I think it’s a title we both share.”

“Are you asking my opinion?” Carrie smiled as she tucked a curl behind her ear.

“Yes,” I replied.

“No,” Gavin countered.

“I’m an only child,” she said. “I can’t relate to the dynamics between you two, but I can tell you it’s fascinating to watch.” She hit the button for the first floor.

I leaned back against the wall, my eyes closing as the elevator lowered.

“Before you put me in the middle of whatever you two have going on, I need you out of the locker room in twelve minutes.”

“No problem,” Gavin uttered. “But we may have to drag this one out.”

I opened my eyes to see he was pointing at me. “This guy,” I groaned.

“Listen, we know how much you miss hockey. How you wish you were suited up tonight and going out on that ice to play against your home team in your favorite arena—”

“Don’t start with this.”

“It’s the truth, Jordan. I’m no different. I’d still like to be on the football field. And I know how being in that locker room will only make that feeling stronger, the same way it would do to me.”

He wasn’t wrong.

I’d do anything to be on the ice again. My team, New York, playing Boston, like they were tonight, was a matchup I’d fucking lived for during every season.

But my body didn’t agree.

So I’d helped them win the Stanley Cup and retired before an injury forced me to make that decision. That didn’t mean I was happy about it. That also didn’t mean I was miserable as the chief marketing officer of Worthington Enterprises. But all I knew was hockey, and it was no longer a part of me in the way I really wanted.

“Twelve minutes will be just fine,” I told them.

Because after the game, I’d be right back in the locker room, hanging with the fellas until they headed to the airport to fly to Manhattan.

The door to the elevator opened, and we walked down the hallway toward the Bears’ locker room.

“Tell them I said good luck,” I said to Gavin.

“Will do,” he replied, and he disappeared inside Boston’s locker room.

“I’m going to wait for you out here,” Carrie said when we’d reached the guest team’s locker room. “If you’re not out in”—she looked at her watch—“eleven minutes, I’ll call you.”

“All right.”