Page 1 of Barn Burner (Love The Game #2)

Brayden

I’m not the type of guy who runs away from my problems. I prefer to tackle them head-on. Nip it in the bud before it has time to fester and grow into something unmanageable.

But right now, that guy is nowhere to be seen. He seemed to have disappeared the second the buzzer sounded and declared Toronto the Stanley Cup Champions, leaving us to watch on as the rug was ripped from beneath our skates.

I’ve only ever been to the playoffs once before, but that time, we didn’t make it past the first round. I was gutted, and I’m not ashamed to admit I may have cried once or twice, but this season, we went all the way.

Final round. Game six.

It had been a tough slog throughout the series. The team was being hit with injury after injury, and our penalty minutes were stacking up higher than an epic game of Jenga.

I was so hopeful this was going to be our year. My chance at lifting the Cup above my head.

But like in any game of Jenga, the stack can come crashing down at any point, and man, did we crash hard .

Even now, six weeks on, I still can’t believe we fucking lost. The wound is still open. Sore and tender, no matter what I try and do to heal it.

I keep replaying it through my mind and watching the tape, trying to figure out where it all went wrong, but the simple thing is…

our defense didn’t turn up, and as for us offensive players?

We might as well have stayed in the locker room with our feet up, sipping on a tasty smoothie, because we had zero impact on the ice.

Sure, we were dealing with so many injuries that our training staff was working overtime.

We were battling for the win while running on empty, but in the end, our determination simply wasn’t enough.

And it fucking sucks.

I had that delicious, shiny carrot dangled in front of me, and I wanted it so bad . Only it was snatched away, and someone else got to enjoy the taste.

So now, instead of dealing with my heartbreak, I’m running into the wilderness.

I thought I was managing my emotions just fine.

That I had squashed the devastation down deep enough that I could carry on and recharge my optimism for next season.

It turns out I was putting on a brave face, because if I didn’t acknowledge my feelings, then they didn’t exist, right?

Joke’s on me, though, because the second my brother, Jude, left to catch his flight back to England to prepare for the start of his Premier League season, I fell apart like a lousy piece of flat-pack furniture.

So instead of getting over it like any other grown-up professional athlete would do, I packed my car with some camping and hiking gear and decided the only way to shake off my disappointment was to get into nature.

To touch some fucking grass and remind myself that there’s more to life than the game that I’ve dedicated my life to.

I find there’s something so grounding about being outside.

Even as a kid, I would set up a tent in the back garden or create a makeshift den in the woods behind our house.

If I wasn’t playing hockey, whether it be in the street or on the ice, I was outside.

Rain or shine. Waking up to the sound of the birds singing or the low whistle of the wind against the sides of a tent.

The crisp, fresh air filling my lungs with every breath, bringing me back down to earth.

Being on the ice or out on a hiking trail is the only time I feel like I can truly breathe , and that’s why there’s now an endless stretch of Canadian countryside passing by my car window.

Dense forestry lines the roads. Maybe spruce or pine.

There are snow-capped mountains in the distance, providing a view outside of my windshield that I’ve only ever seen on a postcard.

It’s gorgeous. Peaceful. But the further I travel away from the city, the more unsure I get.

Coach Keller is going to kick my ass if he finds out what I’m about to do.

Fuck, am I really doing this?

It was a great idea this morning when the walls of my house felt like they were closing in.

Now, I’m forty minutes heading southwest from Calgary, and I’ve not passed a single vehicle in at least ten minutes.

I don’t really have a plan. I figured I would find some trails, then either set up camp or find a motel or some kind of lodge to stay in for the night before moving on.

I don’t even know if I’ve packed everything I need, but I guess I can always stop at a store to buy more.

Knowing me, I’ve probably packed fifty pairs of socks and only two pairs of pants. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“This is what you need,” I tell myself, tapping my fingers against the leather steering wheel. “An off-season adventure.”

This is what I wanted, after all. The real reason I signed with the Calgary Bobcats at the start of the season.

Moving from the hustle and bustle of New York City, where I’ve lived since I was drafted at eighteen to the more relaxed, very green Calgary.

I’ve gone from views of skyscrapers and the Hudson to the picturesque landscape of the Rocky Mountains and being surrounded by national parks and lakes.

It’s my dream.

If only I could feel happy about it.

“Send a message to Jude,” I say to my built-in Bluetooth system.

“What would you like to send to Jude?” my car responds in its crisp automated tone.

“Hey, mate. If you don’t hear from me for a few days, just know I’m alright. I decided to finally go exploring, and I don’t know what the signal will be like.” I rub over my jaw before adding, “I just needed to get out the house, you know?”

The system reads it back to me, and I’m glad it can’t pick up the bleak tone of my voice. Once I give my approval to send, the sounding “whoosh” echoes through the otherwise quiet vehicle.

“Maybe I need some music,” I suggest, then inwardly groan. Great, now I’m talking to myself.

I load up a playlist, and as my favourite songs begin to filter through the speakers, the tension lining my shoulders starts to ease. I can do this. I know how to read maps, and I know how to survive while camping. I’ve done it plenty of times back home in England and Upstate New York.

I’m finally starting to relax when a loud beep interrupts the song, causing me to jump.

“Fuckin’ hell,” I curse under my breath and tap the screen on the dashboard as it’s a message from Jude. The Bluetooth system reads it out.

Are you sure you’re alright? I’m sorry I had to leave. If I could have stayed longer, you know I would have. Text me whenever you get a chance so I have proof of life. I love you, bro. Next season is going to be your year. I can just feel it. Oh, and PS: take pics.

I huff a quiet laugh and relax back into my seat.

Yeah, maybe next season will be my year. There’s only so much bad luck a person can experience, right?

Except I only make it another five kilometres when there’s a loud clunk, causing me to frown.

“The fuck?” I mutter, taking my foot off the accelerator.

There’s another loud clunk, and then the car judders before white smoke begins to billow from beneath the bonnet.

No, no, no .

With my heart in my throat, I pull over to the side of the road and turn off the engine. It does nothing to diffuse the smoke that continues to pour from beneath the bonnet.

Closing my eyes, I hit the back of my head against the headrest and let out a defeated groan. “Fuck!”

I sit there for a few minutes, trying not to let the panic take hold over the fact that I’m possibly stranded in the middle of who the fuck knows where, then get out of the car.

I don’t know anything about cars. I once had a flat tire in the team parking lot after a game back in New York and ended up having to look on YouTube at how to change to my spare because everyone else had left.

And learning to drive on the wrong side of the road has been a challenge in itself.

With a heap of hopeless optimism, I lift up the bonnet. More smoke pours out, and I wave my hand in front of my face. Once it’s cleared enough, I peer in and have a look.

“I don’t know what the fuck I’m looking for,” I mutter. I can’t tell where the smoke is coming from either.

Maybe I can look it up online. Rounding the car, I fetch my phone from the centre console, only when I swipe my finger across the screen to unlock it, there’s one bar of signal. I bring up my web browser and type, “white smoke coming from under car bonnet.” It seems to take forever to load.

“Come on,” I whine, bouncing on my toes. My plea goes unanswered. The screen goes blank, and the last bar of signal disappears. “Fuck!”

Grabbing the keys from the ignition, I slam the door shut and head up the road slightly.

Holding my phone up in the air, like getting my phone a few inches closer to the satellite in outer space will do any good, but it doesn’t.

I’m pretty sure I have the number for the breakdown service saved in my contacts.

Maybe I can call them. When I finally get one bar of signal, I hit Call.

“This number cannot be recognized.”

Great. Just fucking great.

I hit the End button so hard my thumb cracks, and once again, my signal disappears.

The back of my eyes burns with frustration.

“What did I do wrong to deserve this?” I ask, my voice echoing because it’s so damn quiet. “I’ve always been polite. I hold open doors for people. I’ve carried shopping for little old ladies in the supermarket and always took accountability for my actions. So, what. Did. I. Do. To deserve. This?”

Unsurprisingly, I get no response, and I drop my head forward in defeat.

I just wanted a break. A chance to forget about my biggest failure to date. To avoid the press and the journalists picking apart every single thing I did wrong and highlighting why— maybe —the Calgary Bobcats made a mistake signing me.

I just wanted a chance to breathe .

Resigning myself to the fact that I’ll probably be here for a while, I drop down onto the grass verge and stare at the trees across the road.

Knowing the luck I’m having right now, there is a family of grizzly bears watching on.

I haven’t seen a bear yet. Or a moose. I’d love to see a moose and that funny dangly thing under their chin.

I guess I could sit in my car, but I wanted to be out in nature.

Sitting on the side of the road kinda counts, right? I’m still touching grass.

Heaving out a heavy sigh, I lie back, spreading my arms out wide, and close my eyes behind my sunglasses, trying not to let the multitude of emotions that are currently whirling up a storm inside me from taking over.

I don’t know how much time has passed when the sound of tires against the gravel causes a prickle of awareness to travel across my skin.

I roll my head to the side, and a red truck comes to a stop behind my car.

I can’t see who it is because the sun is hitting the windshield at a blinding angle, but I’m not left guessing for long.

The door opens, and a tall man wearing a dark brown cowboy hat gets out.

As he steps closer, I get a better view of his face from beneath the brim. He’s fucking handsome . All hard lines and dark stubble.

But it’s the scowl on his face that makes me swallow the lump that’s formed in my throat and turn my head back up toward the clear blue sky.

Okay, so maybe this is how I’m going to die. Out in the sticks, somewhere in Alberta, with a bruised heart and the shittest luck a guy can get.

Yep, maybe this wasn’t a great idea after all.