Page 39 of Any Second Now (Fort Collins Blizzard Hockey #2)

boc boc boc

RALEIGH

I ’m almost caught up with my cross-stitch orders.

And the good news is I’ve started to sell some of my kits, which require much less effort on my part.

I added a new one today that has a cute chicken design and simply boc boc boc as the quote.

I have a big enough following now, thanks to that viral Atticus video and continuing to post on my socials.

I did manage to put a max number of orders per day on my account so there’s an actual wait list. I’m less freaked out about falling behind now that I have more of a control on the business.

I knock on the door to Kellen’s house, and Lucy opens it seconds later.

“Hey!” She throws her arms around me like she didn’t just see me yesterday. Waffles—her adorable Boston terrier—tries to run out the open door, but Lucy reacts fast and scoops up the adorable little escape artist before he succeeds. “Come in. I can’t wait for you to meet my new friends.”

Lucy spent most of the day traveling to and from the Denver airport to pick up the couple she met overseas. While Lucy was in London, January introduced her to a bunch of friends, including Reese, who is American but lives in Scotland with her Scottish husband, Oliver.

Turns out Reese’s daughter—who plays college soccer but has professional ambitions—has a big tournament outside of Denver, so the couple is visiting pre-tournament.

I follow Lucy down the stairs and take in the enormous television and big sectional couch. There’s a row of leather reclining chairs that give movie theater vibes, and the walls are lined with framed signed hockey jerseys with famous last names.

A pretty brunette woman in her late thirties or early forties is sitting close to an attractive blond man. He’s athletic looking, but not as bulky as the hockey guys.

“This is Reese,” Lucy says. Reese stands and reaches over to shake my hand, her long, dark hair falling over her arm.

“So nice to finally meet you! Lucy and January would not stop talking about you in London.”

Lucy laughs. “What can I say? It was weird not having her there while January and I were spending so much time together.”

“I’m Oliver,” the man says. “Nice to meet another one of January’s American friends.” He’s got a thick Scottish accent. I know from Lucy’s earlier description of the couple that Oliver is an ex-professional soccer player.

I’d love to hear the story of how an American single mom of a teenager and a Scottish ex-pro soccer player with a young son got together. Seems like something that would be impossible to make work.

I follow Lucy to the fully stocked bar in Kellen’s basement.

“Remind me why you don’t just live here with Kellen and his daughter?” I stop as she steps behind the counter and examines the tabletop wine rack. There’s also a wine cellar room on the other side of the bar, because of course there is .

“Because.” Lucy pulls out a bottle of red wine, examines the label, and then pulls out a corkscrew from a drawer. “I like having my own place. It’s one hundred percent me and I love it.”

“That’s true. It is adorable.” I watch Lucy twist the corkscrew into the bottle.

Lucy has a one-bedroom apartment in downtown Fort Collins. It’s not over the top as she pays for it with her salary working in PR for the Blizzard, but it’s bright and clean and decorated exactly for her personality.

“One day I’ll move in here with Kellen. But for now, I appreciate my independence.”

“And eventually you’ll give in to his requests to marry him?” Apparently it’s a regular topic of discussion, but Lucy wants more time to live on her own. I don’t blame her. Not after what her ex put her through.

“I mean, yeah.” She pops the cork out and grabs two stemless wine glasses. “And I can’t believe you chose your RV over staying here for the past month.”

“I love the Pink Palace.” My voice hitches at the end. At some point, Lucy had offered her boyfriend’s house after she realized I’d be in town for more than a few days, but I declined.

I also wanted to explore my independence and not rely on anyone but myself.

“Aw, you love the Pink Palace, huh.” Lucy slides a glass over to me and picks up her own. “To the Pink Palace, the ridiculous contraption which has served you well.”

Over the past few days I came to the conclusion that I need to sell the RV and just fly home.

What’s the point in spending a week driving across the country when there’s another option?

I don’t even enjoy driving that thing. It’s a lot of miles on the road to just put it up for sale back in Connecticut.

In another universe, I might’ve liked being a passenger princess in the RV, but part of the reason I stayed so long in Fort Collins is because of how much I disliked driving that beast .

Part of the reason.

The other part of the reason causes me physical pain to think about.

“To the Pink Palace.” I clink Lucy’s glass and take a big sip of wine.

“This is from my mom’s vineyard,” she says after lowering her glass. “Kellen orders it by the case. I think he’s the only one.”

“Nope, so does Atticus. He told me about it when I first arrived.” Lucy and Atticus’s mom is so sweet and supportive and doesn’t pressure them to be a certain way. She certainly doesn’t give them life spreadsheets.

Maybe they don’t need them.

“I didn’t know that,” Lucy says.

Always drinking good wine is a benefit of dating a Blizzard player, I guess.

Not that Lucy is doing it for that benefit.

She’d love Kellen if he was unemployed and living in a cardboard box.

Just like I… shit, don’t even think it.

Too late. The thought’s already formed.

Just like I love Atticus.

I cannot stop thinking those words. It’s distracting, and unhelpful, and distressing.

I’m glad he’s out of town. I don’t know what I’d do if he were only a few miles away in his apartment. I don’t think I’d be able to stay away.

Because I really want to tell him how I feel.

I shouldn’t. I won’t. But I want to. It would make it harder for both of us, because it wouldn’t change anything.

After the game tonight, Kellen is flying back here on the Blizzard’s private plane. But Atticus and the other single guys—which is most of them at this point—are staying to hang out in NYC.

I don’t even want to think about what’s going to happen when a group of gorgeous hockey players descend on the city.

The idea of Atticus showing up with that slutty backwards hat and the touchable curls and forest green eyes…

heat washes over me. He won’t even have to try. The women will inhale him.

Not that it’s any of my business.

We’ve not shared one single text message since breaking up.

And that’s the way it should be, no matter how tempted I’ve been.

I’ve gotta be gone before he gets back in a few days so I can avoid any confrontation.

I put the RV up for sale three days ago and have had several potential buyers come see it.

One couple loved it, but I heard them talking about painting over the mural.

Painting over that mountain, beautiful sunset reflected in the lake, and Megghen, like it was never there to begin with.

Saying goodbye to my chicken will be another story. But luckily, there’s a great plan for her and her giant coop that doesn’t involve dropping her at a farm where they’ll probably make her dinner.

I follow Lucy back to the couch.

“I canna go back to our wee television when we return to Scotland,” Oliver says. “Lucas will never forgive us.”

I mean—that accent—it takes a lot of concentration for me to follow along, but it’s delicious. Instead, I let my mind wander while I stare blankly at the muted pre-game coverage.

The Blizzard won their first game of the charity tournament yesterday.

I was at Lucy’s apartment and we watched it from her couch with Waffles stretched out on our laps.

I tried not to watch, actually, and spent a lot of time scrolling on my phone so I didn’t accidentally meet Atticus’s eyes through the television screen.

At one point Lucy grabbed my phone and threw it across the couch.

At least you can hardly tell who each player is under their uniforms and helmets, and especially on Lucy’s tiny flat screen.

But Kellen’s television makes the players practically life-sized.

“How did you guys get together?” Lucy asks her friends with a sideways glance at me. “Reese, I’ve only heard the story from your sister. I heard it’s a good one.”

I make a face at Lucy. Last night she was trying to convince me to talk to Atticus again. She even asked if there was any way he and I would consider trying to work it out. I told her no. For so many reasons, no.

I guess she’s trying again, but at least it gives me an excuse not to look at the screen, where any second now the players will come out onto the ice.

“Well, I was in Scotland with my daughter for an elite soccer camp back when she was still in high school.” Reese’s cheeks turn rosy as she talks.

“And I’d just left Winchester FC due to an injury. I was a coach for the camp that Chelsea was attending. She was so good at football. Is so good.” Oliver’s voice lilts up and down in his soothing Scottish cadence.

“Soccer,” Reese says to me. “We were, uh, kind of pushed together.” Reese smiles, and Oliver reaches over and grabs her hand.

“Reese left Scotland, but then I chased after her. It was complicated, aye. We both had to compromise. But we’ve made it work.”

“There was no other option, really.” Reese squeezes Oliver’s hand.

“The obstacles didna matter, as long as we ended up together.” Oliver leans over to kiss Reese.

Oh, for the love. I roll my eyes while their lips are locked and glance at Lucy for solidarity, but she’s got actual fucking tears in her eyes.

I have to get out of this town.

“It seemed impossible,” Reese says when they break apart.

Was this rehearsed? Are they reading from a script? Because it’s ridiculously sappy and dramatic.

“Yeah, it often does,” Lucy sips her wine and leans her head back on the couch. “I mean, Raleigh, did you ever think I’d end up here? Staying in Colorado?”

“No. Your dream was England.” I don’t mean it to come out so cross.

Lucy looks at me, and her face betrays a flash of hurt.

“Sometimes dreams change,” she says in a steady voice. “And sometimes we need to figure out why we feel like we must do something. Why the rules are there—if they’re even really there, or if we’ve made them up and trapped ourselves voluntarily.”

Ouch.

I scoff and break eye contact with Lucy, pretending like her words aren’t twisting a knife in my gut. She’s absolutely passive-aggressively continuing the conversation we had when she questioned why I couldn’t stay. Why I couldn’t actually date her brother.

Reese and Oliver are watching our exchange with wide eyes.

“I feel like we missed something,” Reese says slowly.

“Aye. I’m sure of it.”

But I cross my arms and Lucy keeps her lips zipped. She unmutes the television and we watch the Blizzard players skate onto the ice. I look away when they show Atticus.

My stomach rolls. Why am I fighting with my best friend? The person I’ve missed so much this summer and was exactly who I needed to see after breaking up with her brother?

Is it because I can’t help but wonder if she’s right?

She implied that I’ve made up the rules to my life, and that I don’t really need to be following a perfect life plan anymore. Well, I get it, which is why I deleted my spreadsheets.

And now I have a blank next chapter in front of me, waiting to be written.

How will I pen it?

I’m a bit afraid that if the story is that I sold my RV and flew back to Connecticut to my old life—but worse—than maybe I don’t deserve to be the main character at all .

So what would a main character do? Because I want to give off that energy. I don’t want to be a side character.

I wasn’t acting like a side character this summer.

But now I’m gonna go back to my old life?

Just like that?

And it’s happening soon.