Page 4 of Any Second Now (Fort Collins Blizzard Hockey #2)

Hello, One Third Life Crisis

ATTICUS

I didn’t get a phone call from my father to wish me a happy thirtieth birthday or to check on my recovery from the groin injury I sustained in the last game of the season.

But I did get a text message.

Richard

No need to reply, but I wanted to inform you that Carrie and I are getting divorced.

I didn’t expect him to remember it’s my birthday, nor to check on me.

And the fact that my asshole of a father is getting divorced from wife number four will be a surprise to absolutely no one. He’s been married to her for six years, and my sister Lucy and I talked about the possibility at Thanksgiving last year when the wife didn’t show up to dinner.

I guess being team owner of a Major League Soccer team—DC FC in Washington D.C.—means he has the money and resources to go through wives like they’re new cars.

Me

congratulations

I enjoy doing exactly the opposite of what my father wants. Much like when I chose to play hockey instead of soccer starting in middle school.

Drove that man crazy.

Especially since I had been a fucking good soccer player.

Richard

Have you heard from Lucy? I texted her yesterday but she hasn’t responded.

I could tell him she’s in England with her boyfriend—my teammate, Kellen.

But she would’ve told him that detail if she wanted him to know.

Me

why do you think that is, Richard?

Richard doesn’t respond. I imagine him clenching his jaw at the question. The only reason he’s even texting me is that his favorite child—and that’s not me—stopped responding to him six months ago.

Because he’s a dick.

So he’s debased himself by texting with his son.

Although now that Lucy’s moved to Colorado to work for the Blizzard and is blissfully happy with Kellen, she’s slightly less of a golden child than when she worked for our father in D.C.

I grab my gym bag and leave my apartment in downtown Fort Collins to hop in my Wrangler, which is parked in the small lot behind my building. I need to sweat this out at the team gym, which is thankfully relatively empty during the summer offseason. Fewer people to witness my sad recovery.

By now, I should be one hundred percent recovered from the groin strain, which happened when some young asshole hotshot slammed into me after I’d made a quick cut and passed the puck to our center.

We scored. I limped off the ice. At least now I’m cleared to skate like normal again.

I used to be that young asshole hotshot.

Now I feel middle-aged—at least in terms of hockey.

My goal is to be top of my game at the Skate for Kids charity tournament in New York City in August, which is technically still in the offseason.

It’ll be six teams and two days of games, all raising money for a kids’ cancer charity.

We’ll bring a smaller team than if it were a regular season game, based on who is available to play.

Should be no pressure and all fun, but it’ll be a way to show my teammates and the hockey world that I’m doing just fine.

“Happy birthday, mate,” Lachlan says after I push my way through a set of double doors decorated with the Fort Collins Blizzard logo and a giant abominable snowman, and then a second propped keycard door. He’s sitting on a bench, apparently doing nothing. “Thirty, aye? Old man.”

“Aren’t you twenty-eight?” I attempt a snappy comeback, but only manage to sound like a curmudgeon.

“Yeah. Two whole entire years from thirty.” My Aussie teammate laughs and lifts a pair of heavy free weights, curling them against his biceps. A couple of our teammates are using leg machines across the room. “How’s the groin?” He looks pointedly at my crotch.

“It’s fine. Fucking fine.” I glare at Lachlan. He’s gotten way too much pleasure harassing me about my injury. Probably because it was relatively minor and the season was over, allowing me to recover the right way. But it feels like it’s been a battle to get back to where I was before.

More of a mental battle than a physical one.

“I can’t believe Armas is out.” Lachlan shakes his head and picks up his phone, which is sitting next to him on the bench. “But better him than you, mate.”

Yeah. I’m absolutely better off than our teammate on the second line, who got injured in the same game. But his hip injury was more severe, and unfortunately it was a repeat injury. Bad enough that he’d decided that was enough for him. He hung up his skates and walked away from hockey.

“Oh—here’s another message from Kellen.” Lachlan taps his screen a few times and furrows his brow.

Our team captain—still in England with my sister—had texted us yesterday with the news. It hit too close to home. Armas played right wing, my position, and is only thirty-one, so he should’ve had a few more good years in him.

“What’d he have to say?” I focus on stretching, spending extra time on my legs and groin area.

Pulling that muscle freaked me out. I took two weeks of total down time from exercising, with only light physical therapy.

The downtime was okay—it was still the first part of the offseason so I tend to take it easy anyway.

After that, it was a few weeks of light activity.

I got on the ice a handful of times under the supervision of our skating coach, but it was basically like I was going on a stroll around the ice, like a tourist ice skating during the holidays.

I’m glad not many people were around to see it.

Then it was a week of pushing myself harder.

Now I’ve been give the green light to act normal. But I don’t feel normal. When I faced the ice yesterday, I couldn’t bring myself to go full speed or trust my body. Or myself.

I look up when I realize Lachlan’s gone quiet. His eyes are wide and jaw’s dropped as he stares down at his phone.

“What?” I roll my eyes. Lachlan’s got an inclination for the dramatic.

“Mate. They signed Barrett Steele.” Lachlan looks up and lets out a shocked chuckle .

“Who signed him?” My eyes widen. Maybe he isn’t being dramatic this time.

A vision of Barrett Steele forms in my head.

Basically a kid—maybe twenty-five years old—playing for Utah in the western conference, which is where we are.

“We did. The Blizzard.”

It takes a second for the Aussie’s words to sink in.

Barrett fucking Steele is the one responsible for my groin injury.

I growl at the memory of wanting to kick his ass when I limped off the ice. The game—and the season—was over for me.

“No fucking way.”

“Yeah. They must have paid boatloads for him.” Lachlan lets out a huff and looks up at me. “I wouldn’t worry, though.”

“Why the fuck would I worry?”

“Because he’s first line in Utah? And plays your position?”

My position. Right wing.

“Fuck that.” I shrug and stretch my arms out, but my stomach does a twist that I don’t particularly enjoy.

“I’d be more worried about you and him fighting.” I’m trying way too hard to look casual and unbothered. When I am, in fact, bothered.

“Nah. I only pick fights with the other team.” Lachlan gives me a pitying look. “He won’t be a bad player to have on our side, right?” Lachlan tosses his phone on the bench and picks the free weights back up.

“Can we stop talking about Barrett Steele?”

“Fine. What are you doing tonight?”

“I thought we’d get drinks?” I stand and pick out weights, pushing all thoughts of Barrett Steele out of my head, replaced by the fact that I have nothing to do on my thirtieth birthday.

Pathetic.

“Ah, damn, Atter. I’m going with Melissa to some barbecue. Sorry.” Lachlan sets the weights back down and pulls his arm across his body.

“So you fuck me over and cancel our travel plans this summer, and then can’t even have drinks on my birthday?” I glare at him and he chuckles, but I’m not kidding. He’s been so wrapped up in the woman he started dating a month ago. It’s destined for failure. They’re just too different.

“I’m happy, mate. I think she’s the one.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my wingman?” I scoff.

Lachlan and I are cut out of the same cloth.

Or at least I thought we were. We’re the players.

The flirts. The fun guys at the bar. Neither of us ever date for real.

We just focus on hockey and fun, which includes casually hooking up with women when we feel like it.

Especially when traveling with the team, so we can get on the plane and not have to worry about running into them at Deep Roots Cafe or A Good Book or anywhere else around Fort Collins. I almost always follow that rule.

But Lachlan fucked that all up when he started dating a college professor in town.

Now he’s obsessed.

To me, there’s only one way this ends: in disaster.

She’ll dump him when she realizes how different they are and the thrill of dating a Blizzard player wears off.

She’s got him completely under her control and he’s in way deeper than she is.

He cancelled our summer plans to travel in Europe so he could stay close to her, but she cancels plans with him all the time.

He’s desperately in love, she’s casually interested.

Between Lachlan being otherwise occupied, my injury, Kellen traveling with my sister, and Harley—my other close friend on the team—back in Maine with his long-term girlfriend, it’s a weird summer.

And now I have a new thing to stress about—Barrett fucking Steele .

“How about tomorrow? Black Diamond? Seven o’clock?” Lach shoves his blond curls off his forehead. Melissa even made him cut his hair. Before her, he had a blond curly man bun we’d mercilessly make fun of him for. Now his hair is above his ears. It’s like he’s trying to get an office job. Shudder.

“Yeah, sure.”

During the rest of his workout, I half-listen to Lachlan talk about his girlfriend’s family and job and bullshit that neither of us should care about. When he finally leaves the gym, I breathe a silent sigh of relief and sink onto the bench.

My father’s fourth divorce is evidence that cheating and playing around runs in my veins. It’s why I’ve never tried to get into a real relationship. Or any relationship.

I don’t want to mess someone else up like my father messed with my mother.

But with Kellen, Lachlan, and Harley all paired up, it’s just me. Am I going to have to start hanging out with some of the other single guys on the team? Like Heath, Finn, and Romeo? Fuck no. That’s way too much effort.

I could’ve traveled by myself this summer, but without my kindred spirit—Lachlan—I lost all motivation.

I feel lost. Like I don’t quite fit in anywhere.

And that stupid New Year’s Eve kiss with Raleigh Hayes is stuck in my simple little hockey brain. I haven’t felt the same since. Hooking up with women has lost its allure. I haven’t done it since, which is shocking, now that I think about it.

It’s clear I’m going through some kind of crisis. I run my hand through my sweaty red curls. I’m probably due for a haircut, but I’m holding out so Lachlan remembers what he lost when he let Melissa bully him into cutting his hair.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, so I pull it out.

Lucy

Hey, little brother, guess who’s in Fort Collins?

Me

please don’t say our father is here nursing his wounds from his divorce

Lucy

His divorce?? Oh my god

Me

yup

Lucy

I’m gonna file that away for something to talk about in therapy

Me

also yup

aren’t you in London? shouldn’t you be doing something exciting instead of texting me

Lucy

I am. We are getting ready to meet a bunch of January’s friends at a pub. A gorgeous cozy English pub

Me

shut up

Lucy

lol. But listen, Raleigh’s in Fort Collins

What? Immediate heat rushes to my face as I flash back to New Year’s Eve, and not for the first time today.

Or the second. Raleigh pressed up against the wall, telling me this is the only time we’d ever kiss.

She was making fun of me, just like she did in college, while also making me feel wanted and seen.

Not as a hockey player, but as a person, even if that person was her best friend’s brother.

Me

no shit?

Lucy

Yeah—she’s at an RV campsite called Lakeside Camp. Driving a pink RV

Me

a pink RV?

Lucy

Yep

Can you go check on her? I think she’s going through some stuff—she took a sabbatical and bought a freaking RV—and I hate being over here and wondering if she’s losing her shit

Me

yeah, sure, I think I can fit her in

Lucy

Oh, and happy birthday, Atticus. Let’s celebrate when Kellen and I get back in a month

Me

thanks, Luce

Raleigh’s here. In Fort Collins. Right now.

This will be the perfect distraction from my existential crisis over being the only single guy left of my close friends, my groin injury recovery, my father’s fourth divorce, and the deep sense of dread at having to play on the same team as Barrett Steele next season.

I could use a friend, one who knew me before I was an NHL player. One who takes no shit from me. One who will probably laugh at my existential crisis—or maybe we can laugh about our existential crises together.

And my sister asked me to go check on her.

That’s my motivation. Certainly not because I’ve been yearning to see her face again.

I’m gonna go see Raleigh.

Just to make sure she’s okay.