Page 40

The writing was on the wall

Sophie

Once Remy left, I pulled on my clothes and walked back to the house.

I didn’t hear Cash, but I wasn’t sure if he was at the studio or sleeping in.

I grabbed some breakfast and coffee and headed to the shop.

Remy messaged that he was watching hockey with his teammates, but my subconscious kept listening for him.

I replayed that moment in the restaurant, when I’d been sure he was going to pretend there was nothing between us for Ollie’s sake.

It was a bigger risk than he understood.

Thanks to his dad, Ollie had never gotten over those previous losses.

Maybe I needed to talk to Ollie, unless it would only make things worse.

I couldn’t decide. Maybe it was too late anyway.

Once I was done for the day, I returned to the house to dig up some food. I looked in the fridge for inspiration for dinner. Cash came through the kitchen, dressed up.

“Are you going out?”

“Yeah. You’re okay with that, right?”

I frowned. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He sighed. “I obviously have missed things with you. So, I’m checking.”

I crossed to him and wrapped my arms around his waist. “I appreciate it, big brother. But you enjoy your date and I’m fine on my own.”

“How did you know it was a date?”

I stepped back, rolling my eyes. “Because I haven’t missed things with you.” He reached out to pinch me and I jumped back.

“When are you going over to Diane’s again?”

“Monday.”

“Can I come with? I want to see how your guitar is going.”

My first reaction was no . I didn’t want him to try to be polite about my work when it was shitty. A little voice inside popped up to say what I was doing was good. And if Cash didn’t appreciate it, too bad for him.

“You can. But”—I held up my hand—“I want you to be honest.”

“I’m not going to be mean.”

I crossed my arms. “I’m not asking you to be mean. I do want your honest opinion.”

“But—”

“You’re already expecting that my guitar isn’t going to be good.”

He froze.

“I’m a fully grown woman who’s been handling her own business for years.

I do excellent work when I repair guitars, but it’s been a while since I made one.

I don’t think it’s the best guitar ever assembled, but it’s not shit either.

I just want feedback to know what’s good with what I’m doing, and what I can do better. ”

His eyes moved over my face, checking my resolve. Then he nodded. “I’ll be nicely honest.”

“Don’t say something is good when it’s not. Other people who aren’t related to me aren’t going to worry about being nice.”

He cocked his head. “Have people been mean?”

“People are people. Some of them are assholes.”

“Don’t do business with the assholes.”

I rolled my eyes. “Like you’re going to turn down superstars because they throw tantrums? It’s part of life and I can handle it. I’ve been handling it.”

He huffed a breath. “Fine. But if someone crosses the line, let me know.”

I tried to hold in a grin. “You gonna tell them off for me?”

“I’ve got influence. I can use it.”

He turned to go, but he hadn’t been joking. Damn it, I should have talked to Cash years ago. Sure, he felt protective, but he could have opened doors for me. I was good. Getting more people to notice that was how to make a success of my business. And maybe, in the future, Diane’s.

I’d been upset with Cash and my dad for ignoring what I did. With my dad, that was warranted. But I hadn’t said anything to Cash out of fear. If I was the badass luthier I was claiming to be, I had to get past that. And I would.

Surprisingly, I slept fine the night before Cash was coming with me to String Theory. The guitar I was making wasn’t perfect and he’d have comments, but I wanted to learn. And for someone who hadn’t done this for years, and never seriously, it was actually not bad. I was believing my own hype.

We parked in the empty lot. The restaurant and spa were still closed at this time of day.

“Cash!” Diane smiled when we came through the door.

“Diane!” He pulled her into a hug.

“It’s been too long.” She embraced him tightly.

“We barely said hello at Christams. Why haven’t we kept in touch?”

Diane stepped back. “Because you’re too famous now?”

Cash laughed. “I’m busy and should probably cut back on my work hours.”

“Like you will,” I muttered.

He shot me a look. “But I came to see Sophie’s guitar. She’s made me promise to be honest.”

Diane headed toward the workroom. “She’s right. If she doesn’t get good feedback, she can’t improve. But don’t worry, she’s doing an excellent job.”

Diane was biased, but she also hadn’t built up her business by flattery. We’d talked about my guitar, and I knew the things I’d done that were different from how she would do it. That was fine. I wasn’t trying to replicate her work but instead find my own way.

I brought it out and handed it to Cash. I didn’t need to worry about his handling of it.

He took his time, looking at every detail. “You went with a linear dovetail?”

“Diane likes the traditional, but I wanted to try this instead.”

“And you chose sapele, not rosewood or mahogany?”

“I liked that the sapele is sustainable. It has sharper high-end sound, and I love the red striping in the wood.”

Cash set it down. “This is really interesting. Can I play it when you’re done? I’m curious how it’s going to sound.”

I checked his expression, but he was sincere. I knew my work was better than a lot of instruments I’d seen, and I didn’t need Cash to validate what I was doing. But damn, did it feel good.

We talked more about guitars—mine, Diane’s, and the types Cash preferred in different situations. We had lunch together before Cash took an Uber to the studio to get back to work.

I was earning Cash’s respect, and I could have done it before. The reason I had done it now was due to the hockey player who saw something in me when other people didn’t.

But on the way home, a talking head on the radio mentioned the trade deadline coming up for hockey and questioned whether the Aces would make any moves. My good mood plummeted. What was I going to do if Remy was traded? Or when the season was over and he was gone?

I sucked at casual.

Remy

Watching my country beat the favored Americans in the final was a thrill. But the next day, the guys who’d traveled for the break showed up again in the locker room, bringing back worries about the trade deadline.

Lappy had gone home to visit his family on his time off, but it didn’t look like it had done much for him. He was thin and jumpy and speaking less than ever. Was he worried about being traded too?

It was a fact of life for hockey players.

Normally I stressed less, since I didn’t put down the roots the other guys did.

My goal was to be someplace I got to play as much as possible.

But now staying in Austin was important to me, even though I was getting hardly any starts. It wasn’t hockey I was worried about.

At the end of that first practice, I took the time to ask Lappy how things had been in Quebec.

He lowered his brows. “Why?”

“Small talk.” I wasn’t going to tell him that management hoped I was mentoring him, without him knowing.

“Small? Petit?”

“Being polite.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You want me go, no?”

What the hell?

“You play more. You picture with dogs to…ah…people watch. Like you.”

So much for trying. “I did the photo shoot to get homes and money for the animals. That’s all.” Did he understand all that? Hell if I knew, but if he was getting paranoid that I was trying to take over for him, anything I said to help would just make him do the opposite.

Before our first game, I was called in to talk to the coaches after the workout. Not a great sign.

Coach Mack was there, as well as Coach Russo. And of course, Otts. I didn’t think they’d all want to talk to me if I was being traded, but I couldn’t see a reason why they’d do this if they were definitely keeping me either.

“Coach Trent told us you’ve been monitoring Laplante. What do you think?”

Mack was focused intently on me, while Otts was staring over my head. Had he said I was responsible for the kid? Did I tell them what I really thought, or what they wanted to hear? I pictured Lappy as I’d left him in the locker room, pale, thin and cuticles raw.

“I think he’s feeling a lot of pressure, and it’s getting to him.” My career was ending but Lappy had a bright future if no one, including Lappy, fucked it up.

“Why do you say that?”

“He’s lost a lot of weight. He’s biting his nails till his cuticles are bleeding. He knows you were hoping for more from him and he’s gotta be feeling it. But since his English still isn’t the best, it’s hard to talk about it with him.”

He had been suspicious of me after he commented on my tattoo and we talked about superstitions. I didn’t judge him or anyone else if they wanted to follow particular routines, but I was weird for a goalie, by not being weird about it.

“You think we should send him down?” Mack asked.

“That’s not my call.”

“It would give you more starts,” Russo added.

Fuck. That’s what I got for trying to help the kid. “I was thinking of what would be best for him, not me.”

“The trade deadline is coming up, and we’re evaluating what the team needs. Lappy is one of the pieces we’re considering.”

I was obviously one as well. I shot a glance at Otts, but he didn’t look at me.

Coach Mack stood, and the others followed. “Thanks for giving us your viewpoint. We’re heading on a road trip in the morning, and we’re taking Keats and Lappy.”

I stood and nodded, but the writing was on the wall. The only question was whether they could find someone to trade for me, or if they’d just buy me out and be done. My anxiety was rubbing under my skin and I needed to get away from here as quickly as humanly possible.

I dialed up the water in the shower as hot as I could stand it, hoping to wash the worry away. But it didn’t change the fact that I was done in Austin.

I messaged Sophie that I wasn’t good company, so I was taking a break. Once at the apartment, I packed up Beast and some supplies and left the city.

It took a little over an hour to get to San Antonio, but I didn’t stop. What I needed wasn’t crowds, and the city was close enough to Austin that someone might recognize me. I saw signs for Corpus Christi and decided the coast might be far enough.

It was late afternoon when we arrived, but I found a vacation rental that allowed pets and had a lockbox.

I input my details and credit card and followed the directions to the place, getting some takeout on the way.

Once Beast had a chance to stretch his legs and do his business, I crashed on the bed fully clothed without doing anything more than putting out a water bowl for the dog.

Was this my fault? If I’d let Otts assume Sophie and I were just friends and neighbors, would he not be pushing to trade me, or was the trade inevitable?

And what was Sophie even doing with someone like me? She claimed I’d accomplished something just by surviving in the NHL so long, but that time was ending. Then who was I? I’d been hockey for twenty years. I didn’t have anything else.

The thought of leaving Sophie behind hurt, but what choice did I have? What could I do if I wasn’t playing hockey? Where could I even live?

I fell asleep to those depressing thoughts and the sun woke me up.

I hadn’t closed the curtains properly, and it took me a few minutes to orient myself.

Everything hit—the potential trade, the drive, and now that I listened for it, the sound of the water.

Yeah, the place had been a little expensive because it was on the beach.

I hadn’t cared about that, but I had needed something pet friendly.

Beast was sitting on the floor beside the bed, staring at me intensely enough that he might have been what woke me up rather than the bright light. Someone needed to get outside to a bush, or I’d be losing my damage deposit.

I pulled on clothes, grabbed his leash, and headed out.

It was nowhere near freezing, or the kind of winter weather I grew up with in Canada, but I was grateful I’d brought my jacket. The beach extended in either direction from the rental, few people visible. No one knew who I was or what I did.

I turned left, Beast on his leash beside me.

He avoided the water but found a lot of things to investigate.

And then pee on. When he started to lag, I sat on the sand, staring out over the waves.

They made that shushy kind of sound as they ran up the sand then fell back.

For long minutes I watched and listened, mind in neutral, the sun warming my face.

It was a short respite before my brain came back online.

“What are we going to do, Beast?” I realized, with a shock, that I’d been petting him while I fretted. And he’d let me. He’d actually leaned into it. “Even you feel sorry for me.”

He flattened onto his belly, legs spread behind him like a frog. I didn’t know dog body language well enough to decipher that as anything but him relaxing. But I knew what was coming.

“If there’s no more hockey, it’s time to find a place for the winters. Any suggestions?”

He closed his eyes, soaking up the sun. I’d say he was a fan of the warmth. His vote would be for the south.

I would like to stay in the south too, particularly Austin. But I didn’t know how to make that happen when hockey wouldn’t provide me with a visa. Damn it, I’d put this off for so long, and now I was stuck.

I hadn’t gone through a season without a team since I’d been in high school.

But worse, it meant this thing with Sophie was ending sooner than planned as well.

She’d become essential to me. Just knowing she was nearby, that I could pick up the phone and message her, had made this stressful season more bearable.

I needed to talk to her. Find out if she would be interested in long-term and willing to figure it out. I didn’t see a way forward, but maybe she would.

Beast tugged on the leash. I’d come to a stop, standing and staring at nothing.

I started moving again. I’d shower and dress.

Feed the dog. Feed me. Take some time to pull myself together and try to figure out a way to stay here.

Then I’d head back to Austin and be there when the team returned to face the trade or buyout that was coming and sort out my future.