Page 6

I pull my scrub pants on, shimmying into them before tying the waist, and then tug on my top.

Looking in the mirror, I run my hands through my hair, smoothing it out a bit before pulling it into a low, lazy-girl ponytail.

My head’s already aching today because the hospital was so busy yesterday that I hardly drank any water, but instead, I kept cracking open a new energy drink, thinking it would somehow wake me up and bring me to life.

No such luck though.

Instead, I just felt like shit when I finally got home.

Either way, the last thing I want is my hair piled on the top of my head, making things worse today.

Grabbing my sneakers, I plop down on the edge of the bed and pull them onto my feet just before my phone starts buzzing.

It’s probably my mom or maybe one of my brothers, but when I grab it from the nightstand, it’s a number I don’t recognize.

“Damn telemarketers,” I huff, but something pulls me to answer the call.

Reluctantly, I swipe my pointer finger across the screen and bring it to my ear.

“Hello?” I say, less than enthused because I’m sure it really is just some random recording, telling me about my extended car warranty.

“Hello. I’m trying to reach Saylor Sawyer,” a kind female voice says on the other end.

Still … I’m skeptical of this bitch.

“Regarding?” I toss back, tucking my phone between my shoulder and my face while I fill my water bottle because hell no will I make the same mistake as yesterday, not hydrating myself.

I’m going to be twenty-three in a few months, and I feel like I’m twice that on some days.

Nursing isn’t easy. My shifts are long and strenuous—oh, and really fucking stressful.

“Hello. My name is Cynthia Roberts. I’m calling from Charles Dixon Hospital in Charleston, South Carolina.”

When she pauses, my eyes must be the size of pizzas.

“I was hoping to speak with Saylor Sawyer …”

“This is she,” I squeak awkwardly, embarrassed because I really did treat poor Cynthia like she was about to scam me into buying a fake extended car warranty.

“Hi there, Cindy—”

I clamp my mouth shut.

She didn’t say her name was Cindy; she said Cynthia.

I’ve talked to her for, like …

thirty-five seconds, so why am I trying to give her a nickname?

Maybe she was named after her mother, and her mother is dead.

Or an awful person. Or maybe Cynthia has no significance.

Either way, this is why my brain and my mouth need to have a come to Jesus moment and figure their shit out.

“Hi there, Saylor. I’m calling about the nursing position you applied for. Do you have a few minutes to chat?” she says, seeming unfazed.

Her voice sounds warm through the phone, settling the nerves in my stomach slightly.

“I do,” I say quickly, sounding creaky as hell.

Last week, I was having a bit of a pity party for myself, and I went online and searched for traveling nursing jobs.

Charleston has always been a bucket-list place for me to go to—mostly because Southern Charm is my favorite show in the world and I have a fantasy that, one day, Craig might declare his love for me, and Madison might want to become best friends and give me all her hair tricks and tips.

Her beauty ones would be welcome too.

“Great,” she says warmly.

“We received your job application and résumé, and after looking through everything, it really does seem like you may be a good candidate to join our staff. If you’re still interested, we’d like to meet with you in person first. And if all goes well, we’d be happy to offer you a position here.”

My mouth won’t work to respond right away.

I mean, I was, like, three glasses of wine deep and crying into my pillow when I applied for that job.

It’s not that I don’t want it.

I guess I just didn’t expect to hear back so soon—if at all.

Most of my family lives in Maine, and despite my bitching about the cold, I do love it here.

I have friends at the hospital.

I have my small but cozy apartment here.

On paper, it would seem like everything is perfect.

But you’re all alone.

You throw yourself at every good-looking guy you come across.

You do anything to try to feel something, but your life is becoming a downward spiral.

Your best friend lives across the country.

So many women your age are getting married or having kids.

Not you. You’re … stuck.

You should get a cat or maybe a turtle.

Yeah, definitely a turtle.

They are easier.

You’re a loser.

“When would you need me to come out there?” I blurt out in an attempt to quiet the voices in my head from making me feel like a bigger loser.

“Well, when works for you? We can start there, and I’ll see if our hiring director is available during that time.”

I think about my schedule for a moment.

“I work today and tomorrow, and then I’m off for three days. I could come out then.”

“Let me write that down, and I’ll get in touch with her. Then I’ll let you know?”

“That sounds perfect,” I say, feeling my head become a little fuzzy because this is a big deal.

I might not even get the job, but …

I also could. And then what?

I’m just going to say, Peace out, Maine.

It’s been real, but I’m going to Charleston to become besties with the Southern Charm cast ?

It would appear so.

“All right, thanks so much for your time, Saylor. We’ll talk soon.”

“Sounds great. Thank you,” I chirp just before the call ends.

I drop my phone to my side and put my hand over my mouth.

Dear Lord … what did I get myself into?

It seems scary, but then I weigh the other side of it all.

I may be settling. And while I do love Portland and the hospital I’ve been at for a while now, I’m not sure if it’s my happily ever after because I’ve never been anywhere else.

I didn’t grow up in Portland, but I did grow up a few hours away from here, so I might as well have because Maine is …

well, Maine. And after everything that happened with Rowan and God knows how many other Bay Sharks saw that video …

this place seems tainted now.

Not to mention, my best friend lives in California anyway.

It would be different if she were here too; it would make it harder to leave.

I think it’s time for me to start thinking about my next step.

And depending on how this visit to Charleston goes …

that may be my fresh start.

At the very least, while I’m in Charleston, I’m going to stop into Sewing Down South and get myself a pillow from the one and only Craig from Southern Charm —that’s for damn sure.

After all, it is my favorite show.

Tripp and I lace our skates up, and judging by the sighs that keep coming from his direction, he’s not happy to be here.

Recently, the team started doing this thing once a month where two players donate their Sunday to come to the arena and work with kids who are aspiring hockey players.

Today’s session was actually supposed to be me and Kolt, but since he’s still recovering, Tripp had to step in.

He’s not irritated because he’s a dick, but instead, he’s always nervous he’ll say something in front of the public that will land him in hot water.

Whatever we do or say gets turned into a fucking headline.

I don’t worry about it, but Tripp is a whole other story, and I think that probably stems back to whatever he left behind in Alabama.

“Ready?” I say, standing up.

“No,” he grumbles but slowly stands.

“Dude, it’s kids,” I say.

“Pull the stick out of your ass. They are children. It’s not like they are going to ask you about your season or how many sexual partners you’ve had. Relax.”

“Yeah, well, did you ever think that some of the parents who bring their kids to this have ulterior motives?” he grumbles.

“You really think everyone has good intentions? No. They are using their snot-nosed little brats to get info.”

“You’re fucking weird,” I utter before turning away from him and toward the door.

“Come on. Hurry the hell up.”

I can hear him coming behind me leisurely.

I understand his concerns.

As professional athletes, we do have to be careful about who we trust, but, goddamn, he takes it to a whole other level of crazy.

These sessions are very controlled.

Only so many people are allowed in; it’s first come, first serve; and every person goes through a security check.

He needs to calm down.

As we make our way onto the ice, the parents in the stands erupt into cheers.

Kids gather in different parts of the arena, assembled in small groups so it’s not too overwhelming and each child gets the most out of this clinic.

I love kids, so I wasn’t mad when I found out this weekend was my turn to be here.

Growing up, I had been lucky to have the opportunities to play sports at the levels I did.

When I told my parents my dream was to be in the NHL, they did everything they could to help me get here.

For some of these kids, their parents don’t have the means to do that, and that’s why I love this program.

It gives kids a shot who otherwise wouldn’t get one.

Skating toward my first group, I grin as their eyes grow wide and their smiles spread across their faces.

I never thought I’d be someone’s hero, and I have to say, I don’t think I deserve it, but it makes me feel damn good.

After a few hours, the clinic is getting ready to end, and overall, I think most of the kids did well, and they all seemed to have a great time.

While the kids get their participation shirts, which the entire team signed prior to today, Tripp comes next to me.

“That kid wearing the Sterns jersey is really good for a ten-year-old.” He jerks his chin toward the boy who was undoubtedly the standout today.

“Cash,” I say, referring to the kid’s name, nodding.

“He was good. His grandfather owns that bakery downtown that Sawyer is always going to.”

“You mean the one he goes to weekly to buy out their doughnuts to feed the homeless but thinks he’s doing it secretly?” Tripp says, smirking.

“Yeah, that’s the one.” I chuckle, watching as the kid skates off with the T-shirt in his hand.

When he starts to exit the arena, a pretty woman is there to greet him.

She gives him a high five before pointing toward Tripp and me.

“Who’s that? His sister?” Tripp says, clearly intrigued.

Not that I can blame him.

She’s stunning in a natural sort of way.

“I’d say it’s his mom,” I guess just as Cash starts skating back toward us.

“Thank you for today,” Cash says, beaming at both of us.

“I really loved being here.” His eyes actually gloss over, making my heart melt in my chest because I can tell he means every word.

“This was the best day of my life.”

Raw talent is great and all—and this kid certainly has it.

But he also has that spark inside of him that pushes him to want to be the best. To ask questions, to take corrections graciously because he wants to improve.

Those are qualities that make a champion.

It’s hard for me to keep it together in moments like this, but doing my best, I grin at him and squeeze his shoulder.

“You’ve got a lot of talent, kid. Don’t give up, okay?”

I don’t expect Tripp to say anything because it’s just not who he is, but he surprises me when his deep voice speaks.

“You’ve got something special, Cash. Hell, I think you’re better than I was at your age.”

“Same,” I utter with a laugh.

The kid’s eyes grow wide, and he looks like he may pass out.

Keeping my hand on his shoulder, I skate beside him, back toward his mom—unsure of why Tripp is hot on my ass because, a few hours ago, he was bitching about having to be here at all.

Now, he’s eager to stay and chat with parents.

“Your boy isn’t just a great athlete; he’s polite too.” I smile down at Cash before lifting my gaze to his mom.

She doesn’t appear nervous, the way some people might when they meet a professional athlete, but instead, she swells with pride as her son makes his way off the ice and to her.

She smiles. “Thank you. We tried the past few months to get in, but we never made it in time.” She laughs lightly.

“We weren’t missing out this time, were we, bud?”

Cash shakes his head.

“Nope. Mom stayed up until midnight when the slots became available just to make sure I got one.”

I hate that parents have to do something like that just to secure a spot, but it also shows what a great mom she is.

“Well, I hope to see you again, Cash,” I tell him honestly.

“Like I said, don’t give up, even if it gets hard.” I wink before skating away.

I expect Tripp to be close behind, but when I reach the center of the ice and look back, he’s still standing over next to Cash and his mom.

Weird.

Either Tripp thinks that kid is a prodigy or something and he wants to one day say he was the one who discovered him or he really, really likes the looks of his mother.

I’m hoping for the latter.

A good woman might cheer his grumpy ass up.

Then again, Saylor cheered my ass up, but now, I’m pissy all the time because all I can think about is being with her again.

Unfortunately for me, I don’t see that changing anytime soon.