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LAFRENIéRE

"You’ve got to be kidding me." Dustin’s voice was sharp as he pressed the phone to his ear, his free hand curling into a fist at his side. He forced himself to take a slow breath, reining in his frustration. "You’re telling me that rusted-out hunk of junk actually runs—and someone called to complain that I parked too close?"

“Yes, sir.”

Unbelievable .

He ran a hand down his face, his pulse kicking up. “I assumed it was abandoned. You guys said before that a tow truck couldn’t even get in there because it hadn’t moved in—what? Years?” He let out a humorless chuckle. "Meanwhile, I’ve been going out of my way to avoid scraping the Corvette on the other side, thinking I was doing that guy a favor. That Toyota looks like it should’ve been sent to the scrapyard a decade ago. The hood is practically disintegrating, the tires are rotting—are you sure it even runs?"

“Yes, I’m positive,” the office manager responded, unfazed. “The owner has been a resident for six years now, and?—”

“And I’ve lived here for two. What does that have to do with anything?” His jaw tightened.

"If you could just put a little more space between the cars, that would be appreciated.”

Dustin exhaled sharply. "How about giving me a different parking spot—one that’s nowhere near that heap of metal?"

"If one opens up, I’ll be sure to let you know."

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"How about this—reach out to the owner of the rustbucket, ask them to park on the street, and I’ll pay for both spots?"

There was a brief silence. “I can certainly reach out to them, if you’d like.”

“I’d be happy to?—”

“You know we can’t disclose resident information,” the manager cut in smoothly.

His patience snapped. “Which is exactly why I chose to live here.”

“And why the other resident did as well. We take privacy very seriously.”

Dustin let out a rough laugh, shaking his head. “What, am I parked next to some big-shot executive? Or maybe the Coyotes' owner?”

“Complete privacy for all guests,” the manager reiterated, their tone immovable.

Of course.

Dustin rolled his eyes and exhaled slowly.

There was no arguing with a brick wall.

T he next day wasn’t any better.

The same irritating phone call, the same grumbling complaint from the owner of the rusted-out junker parked outside. The same ache gnawing at his muscles, making every stretch feel like slow torture. His patience was already wearing thin when his phone buzzed—first with a text from his agent, then another from his sister. By the time he realized he was completely out of BenGay, his mood had plummeted into something dark and foul.

Limping slightly, Dustin grabbed his trash bag and made his way to the chute before heading toward the elevator. He rolled his shoulders, shifting the lingering tension, then crossed his feet and reached for his toes. His hamstrings screamed in protest, tight and unforgiving. He exhaled through his nose, willing the stretch to loosen the knots coiled inside him.

Then came the ding of the elevator, and he straightened abruptly—only to find himself face-to-face with her again.

Laurel.

And standing beside her, a pint-sized version of ‘ attitude incarnate,’ eyes wide with curiosity and mischief.

Dustin barely had time to process his surprise when the girl wrinkled her nose and blurted out, “He smells.”

Heat surged up his neck.

“Sorry, kid,” he said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. “Just got out of practice. I’m a little sweaty.”

“More like a lot sweaty.”

“Kendall.”

“What?” The girl—Kendall, apparently—shrugged. “He smells like a wet dog. Maybe you should write about werewolves boinking or something and use this olfactory insult for reference, Laurel. Phew !”

Dustin’s brain short-circuited.

His mouth fell open in sheer horror as Laurel’s face turned a violent shade of crimson. She gasped, visibly mortified, then shoved her glasses up her nose and yanked the kid back by the collar.

“Can you not?” she hissed through gritted teeth.

Kendall, utterly unrepentant, fluttered her lashes dramatically. “Cerulean bluuuuue,” she sing-songed, then rolled her eyes at Laurel like they’d just shared some inside joke at his expense.

Laurel looked utterly trapped – like she was ready to leap out of the elevator into nothingness just to get away from him.

It was a little insulting to think that he smelled that much, but then again, they had played hard at practice today, and all of them stunk. He had wanted to get home before things tightened back up… which is why he was limping slightly now.

Dustin was still reeling when the puzzle pieces clicked together.

“I thought that was you the other day,” he said slowly, still struggling to catch up. He looked between them, realization dawning. “Wait—you have a kid?”

“ Ew , no! You wish! Back it up, Dump Truck,” Kendall scoffed, waving a hand like she was clearing the air. “This elevator’s got enough room for six people, yet you’re hogging all the clean oxygen.”

Dustin blinked.

Dump. Truck?

Before he could form a response, Laurel turned on Kendall, her expression murderous. “ Enough , Kendall!” she hissed, her wide eyes promising swift and immediate consequences.

Dustin bit back a horrified laugh.

Laurel had a kid who was almost a teenager .

As the elevator door opened to the hallway that led to the parking garage, his footsteps faltered as he instinctively hung back. He wasn’t in any rush to leave—not yet, anyway. There was no way that was her child, because she would have been pregnant at thirteen or fourteen – and he was still living at home at the time. Laurel and Madeline were still having sleepovers and playing together. Maybe it was a sister or a cousin?

He could already feel the tension that often followed in the wake of the teenager’s antics. The last thing he needed was to be compared to a dump truck again. So, he lingered, giving them some space. But as soon as he heard their voices, his curiosity kicked in, and he couldn’t help but listen.

“Stop it, Kendall – please ?” Laurel’s voice wavered, almost pleading.

“That’s your blue-eyed guy, isn’t it?” the little girl teased, her voice high-pitched with mischief.

“Nooo…” Laurel’s reply was a mix of horror and embarrassment, but Dustin could almost hear the blush in her voice.

“It is! He’s got those bright blue eyes, and I’ve seen your vision board—you’ve got photos of that hockey player cut out and everything…” The girl’s voice practically bubbled with excitement.

“Would you just hush?!” Laurel’s frustration was thick in the air, but Dustin couldn’t help but smile. There was something endearing about hearing Laurel so ruffled, especially when it came to her sister’s antics and hearing that she had photos cut out of him.

That was actually really flattering.

The younger girl didn’t relent. “Why didn’t you tell him you were my sister...”

“I’m not exactly sure I want to claim you right now,” Laurel shot back, clearly exasperated.

“Ouch.” The little girl’s voice sounded wounded, but Dustin could hear the playful edge. “I do have feelings, you know.”

“If one of them is empathy, then you’d be incorrect,” Laurel quipped, her voice dry.

Dustin couldn’t help it.

He burst out laughing, the sound of it echoing down the hallway. Both heads snapped around—one in horror and the other in sheer frustration, the tension hanging thick. Laurel’s eyes widened, and the teenager scowled, but there was something in her expression that told Dustin she wasn’t exactly angry—more like annoyed.

“Sorry!” Dustin called out, raising his hands in mock surrender, though he was still grinning. Laurel’s expression softened just a little before she urged her sister forward, leading her toward the car. His eyes lingered on them both as they moved. He hadn’t realized how much younger Laurel’s sister was than he’d expected, and it hit him like a ton of bricks—she looked so much like Laurel, but there was an edge to the connection between them. A sisterhood he hadn’t anticipated.

As he watched them, a sudden thought flashed through his mind. Was she the one Madeline had mentioned being at a funeral to support? He’d almost forgotten the conversation they’d had in passing, but now it nagged at him.

Had both of Laurel’s parents passed away? Or just one? What was going on in her life?

There was so much about her he didn’t know, so many things left unsaid. And the weight of that uncertainty pressed down on him as he followed them to the garage. But what hit him next made his chest tighten.

Laurel opened the door to a rusted Toyota—a car that seemed to have barely escaped its last trip to the junkyard. Dustin’s mind reeled, his steps slowing as disbelief flickered across his face. This was what Laurel drove?

The realization was sharp and cold.

She was the one making all the complaints?

Laurel was the one driving this decrepit rustbucket? He shot out a hand, barely catching himself against the wall. His mind raced with a thousand thoughts at once.

That car was a death trap.

It wasn’t just a question of getting stranded—it was the safety of her and her sister. What was she doing driving that thing around? Hadn’t she thought about it? She was so much smarter than this... wasn’t she?

Dustin barely noticed the sound of the car backfiring as it sputtered to life, and he watched as it rolled away, the cloud of smoke hanging in the air long after it had disappeared down the street. He could still taste the dust in his mouth, and the knot in his stomach only tightened.

And then, everything clicked.

These weren’t cheap apartments they were leaving behind—nothing about this place screamed struggling . So why was she living here? Why was Laurel driving a car that looked like it had been through a dozen wrecks? His gut twisted with a sudden, aching confusion.

Why did she need privacy? Why live in a place like this—one that clearly didn’t fit with the image he had of her—and yet drive a car that was more like a liability than a solution?

There were too many questions. Too many unanswered mysteries that made his head spin. But he had no answers. None. Only the growing realization that something wasn’t adding up and the tightness in his chest that felt like a budding curiosity… oh yes. He’d seen this act before – but usually in horror movies.

It was always the one who wandered off into a dark room and got slaughtered by the bad guy, yet as he watched the car drive away, he couldn’t help but recognize that was him. Something was looming and tickling the back of his mind – and he had a vague impression that it was nothing good waiting.

He wanted to know more… now.

D ustin made it twenty minutes before he finally gave in. He had a tube of BenGay, a new heating pad, and some peel and heat strips he could hide under his uniform if it was still bothering him tomorrow. Sitting in his car, he called Madeline almost immediately.

“Talk – and you’re on speaker. I’ve got the mixer going, and we’re baking,” Madeline answered in a rush, and he could hear the chaos of the kitchen in the background. “I feel honored. Two calls in such a short period – what could be the problem?”

“Spill it.”

“What?”

“Laurel. She’s the rustbucket that has been reporting my car.”

“Well, don’t park like a douchebag.”

“You’re supposed to be on my side…”

“When you’re right – yes.”

“Why do I bother calling you…” he muttered, rolling his eyes at Madeline’s knowing laugh. “I swear, you’ve always been like this. You answer a question with another one, putting me on the defensive, and…”

“And you love me,” she interrupted, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “You called because you are a curious person tucked behind that whole ‘I’m-a-big-baddie’ persona you try to portray.”

“You think you’re so smart.”

“You would be amazed.”

“Probably,” he admitted, chuckling. “So spill it, give me everything and satisfy my curiosity.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?” he retorted, stunned. “Did you seriously just ‘No’ me? I’m invoking the family card and…”

“You don’t get to use it on Laurel because that’s cheating.”

“How?!” he nearly yelped, shocked at his sister’s reactions and response. “How exactly is that cheating.”

“Because I’m not about to betray my best friend or pick between the two of you when I love you both.”

“I’m family.”

“Yes, you are – but to me, she’s family too,” Madeline began, her voice full of emotion that surprised him. “Besides Kendall, I’m all that Laurel has, and I refuse to betray her. If you want to know something about her, then go knock on her door and start a conversation.”

“A one-sided one,” he retorted hotly. “She clams up whenever…”

“Funny,” Madeline interrupted quickly. “She said the same thing about you when I gave her the same advice. Now, I’m busy. One of you should attempt to take my advice or quit asking for it. I swear, you are both so stubborn sometimes and…”

His sister was rambling on when he saw his agent was calling him again.

“I gotta go, Madeline…”

“Love ya – byeeee…” she replied quickly, drawing out the last word as she hung up. He clicked the button to pick up the call – and winced.

“Well?”

Malcolm wasn’t holding back as he laid into him.

“You had better have an answer to me soon because the Wolverines just called again – asking about you – and upped the offer. Do you hear what I am saying? They are willing to take on a worn-out goalie…”

“Whoa there…” Dustin protested, insulted, but Malcolm continued on.

“And offering you top dollar to take this spot – and you are having to ‘think about it,’” he mocked, his voice getting louder and louder. “There is no thinking – you need to do this. If you want to stay in the field, in the know, and move on to broadcasting or coaching later, then you will need every contact, every ace in the hole, and you are currently peeing on this one, Lafreniére!”

Dustin blinked.

“You work for me, remember?” Dustin began, currently taken aback by the man’s angry voice as he got louder and louder.

“I work for the number one goalie in demand currently – but that might not be you next year. I’d like it to be, but for any of this to work it has to be as a team. I’m not staying in the rowboat if you are drilling holes in the bottom of it.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“We’re currently butt-cheek deep in water and sinking.”

“No, we’re not,” Dustin chuckled at the imagery.

“So you have a bride in mind, and you’re taking the deal?”

“I didn’t say that…” he hedged carefully.

“You live on the twelfth floor, right?”

“Yeah.”

“A fancy high-rise condo with great views?”

“I guess so.”

“Tell ya what – you take the stairs to your place instead of the elevator and tell me if you are getting married to someone to clinch this contract. You have twenty-four hours left to say ‘yes.’ I wouldn’t wait until the last minute either,” Malcolm snapped hotly and hung up on him.

Hesitating, Dustin parked his car, backing it in… and looked at the rusty car beside him. His mind was racing with staggering, bone-chilling thoughts he had never even contemplated in his wildest dreams. As he got out of the car and limped toward the building, he looked up – and swallowed.

He could do it – but was it worth it?