Page 12

Chapter 12

Garrett

I stare intently at my phone, thumb hesitating over Cyn's name. My pulse quickens as I finally summon the courage to call her.

"Hey, Garrett!" Her voice, like a spark, electrifies me.

"Hey there! How's everything going?" I aim for a breezy tone, though my heart pounds.

"Oh, you know, the usual—work's been a whirlwind. How about you?"

"Same here, caught in the storm. So, I was thinking..." I pause, drawing a deep breath. "Maybe we should meet up. Talk face-to-face about...everything."

A charged silence hangs between us, and I can almost feel her weighing the possibilities.

"I'd really love that," she responds at last, excitement tinged with caution. "But where? It's not like we can just waltz into the stadium café for a casual chat."

I chuckle. "No, definitely not. I know a quiet place. Discreet."

"Okay. When?"

"Tomorrow? After work?" I hold my breath, hoping she'll say yes.

Another pause. "Sounds good. Text me the address."

Relief floods through me. "Great. I'll see you then."

We hang up, and I can't stop smiling. Finally, a chance to really talk to her. To figure out if we can make this work.

But as I head to my next meeting, doubt creeps in. What if someone sees us? What if this blows up in our faces? The last thing I want is for her to get fired because of me.

I push the thoughts away. We'll find a way. This shouldn’t be such a big deal.

The following night, I enter Mack’s and scan the dimly lit bar, my heart skipping when I spot Cyn in a corner booth. She's changed out of her work clothes, looking stunning in a simple black dress. I weave through the sparse crowd, trying to keep my expression neutral.

"Hey," I say, sliding into the seat across from her.

Her green eyes light up. "Hay is for horses."

I chuckle. “And for pregnant cows someone once told me long ago.”

“Of course. Common knowledge,” she jokes and she looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

We order drinks, a bourbon for me and a glass of white wine for her. An awkward silence settles between us while we just look at each other with goofy smiles on our faces. I clear my throat. "It's good to see you. And actually be able to really talk."

Cyn nods, a small smile playing on her lips. "Yeah, pretending to barely know each other at work is...challenging to say the least."

"Tell me about it," I chuckle. "I keep wanting to talk to you, but..."

"But we can't," she finishes.

Cyn looks down at her hands and picks at a cuticle before looking back up at me with those gorgeous eyes. "Yesterday in the training room, when you were discussing strategy with Coach Martinez and I was working on Miller's shoulder..." She leans forward slightly. "Do you know how hard it was not to look at you?"

"I was having the same problem," I admit, voice dropping lower. "You were doing that thing with your mouth, when you chew on your bottom lip when you're concentrating."

Her cheeks flush. "I didn’t even know I do that."

"All the time." I take a slow sip of bourbon, savoring the burn. "I notice everything about you."

She shifts in her seat, recrossing her legs beneath the table. Her foot brushes my calf. I assume it’s an accident at first but then she leaves it there.

"Sorry," she whispers, still not moving it away.

"Don't be." I hold her gaze.

"I miss talking to you," she says. "Really talking. Not just 'Good morning, Coach Hughes' and 'How's the rehab plan coming along?'"

"I miss your laugh," I confess. "The real one. Not the professional one you use around the team."

She raises an eyebrow. "I have different laughs?"

"At least three." I count on my fingers. "The polite work laugh, the laugh when you are truly tickled about something and the laugh after you’ve just had an orgasm and you seem to be in disbelief about how fucking good it felt.”

She raises her eyebrows and is about to say something when our drinks arrive, and I take a sip, gathering a little extra courage.

“What were you going to say?” I prod.

“I honestly have no idea. Your previous comment has completely emptied my mind.”

Chuckling, I reach across the table and take her hand in mine.

"So, about us..." I start.

Cyn leans forward. "I like you, Garrett. A lot. But I'm nervous."

"Me too," I admit. "Not only do we have this issue with work but also…I just need to tell you that my divorce wrecked me." I look away briefly, fiddling with a napkin on the table. “It’s been eight years now but it’s taken me a long time to come back from in. I haven’t really had anybody important in my life since then actually.”

She squeezes my hand and the warmth of it feels amazing.

"What happened in your marriage?" she asks, eyebrows furrowed.

I sigh, memories flooding back. "We grew apart. She resented my career. She hated all the travel. And I was too focused on hockey to see what was coming."

I take a deep breath, memories flooding back. "It was during the playoffs. We had a crucial away series and I was gone for a week. I was so focused on the games, I barely communicated with her."

Cyn squeezes my hand gently, encouraging me to continue.

"When I got home, exhausted but riding high on our wins, the house felt...wrong. Too quiet. Empty." I pause, taking a swig of bourbon. "I called out for her, but there was no answer. Then I noticed little things missing. Her favorite vase. The throw pillows she'd insisted on buying."

I can see it all again in my mind's eye. The growing dread as I moved through the house.

"I ran upstairs to our bedroom. Her closet was bare. Dresser drawers pulled out, empty." My voice catches. "On the bed was a note. Just a few lines."

Cyn leans in, her eyes soft with sympathy. "What did it say?"

"'I can't do this anymore. I've found someone who actually cares about me, who's there for me. Don't try to find me.'"

The words still sting, even after all these years.

"God, Garrett. I'm so sorry," Cyn whispers.

I shrug, trying to play it off. "It was a long time ago. But yeah, it wrecked me. I threw myself into hockey even more after that. I had nothing else at that point.”

Cyn's eyes soften. "Did you ever see her again?"

I shake my head slowly. "Not until the lawyers got involved. Six weeks later, I was sitting in some fancy office downtown—all chrome and glass and uncomfortable leather chairs talking about how we were going to divide all of our stuff."

The memory feels fresh, razor-sharp

"I'd been trying to reach her for weeks. Calls, texts, even went to her parents' house wondering if she was there. Nothing." I take another sip of bourbon, longer this time. "My attorney tells me we need to meet at her attorney’s office. I walk in, and there she is."

Cyn watches me intently, her thumb tracing small circles on the back of my hand.

"She looked...different. New hairstyle, more makeup on her face than I’d ever seen before. She wouldn't even look at me." The memory makes my jaw clench. "Like I was nothing to her. Ten years together, and she couldn't even meet my eyes."

"That's awful," Cyn whispers.

"Yeah. And her lawyer—this shark in an Italian suit—he slides this document across to me. Demands half of everything. The house, my savings, even wanted a percentage of my future earnings."

I shake my head, willing all these memories to disappear.

"Enough about that. What about you?" I ask. "Any relationship skeletons in your closet?"

She laughs, but it's tinged with sadness. "Oh, plenty. My last serious boyfriend...he couldn't understand why my job was so important to me."

I nod, understanding all too well. "It's not just a job, though, is it?"

"No," Cyn says firmly. "It's everything I've worked for. My independence."

She takes a long sip of wine, her eyes growing distant. "My dad abandoned us when I was eight. Just up and left one day."

"That's rough," I say softly, shaking my head.

Cyn nods, tracing the rim of her glass with her fingertip. "Mom and I were eating breakfast. Cheerios. I remember because they got soggy while I waited for him to come eat with us." Her voice takes on an edge. "Turns out he'd packed his bags the night before while I was asleep."

I pick up her hand and kiss her knuckles.

"No goodbye, no explanation. Just gone." She swallows hard. "My mom was blindsided. He'd cleaned out their joint account too—left her with the twenty-three dollars she had in her purse."

"Jesus," I mutter.

"We lost the house within three months. Moved into this tiny one-bedroom apartment in a neighborhood where you didn't go out after dark." Her eyes flash with something—anger, determination. "Mom and I slept in the same bed four years until we could finally move into something larger."

She looks down at our intertwined fingers, then back up at me.

"She worked three jobs at first. Waitressing in the mornings at a diner, receptionist during the day, and stocking shelves at night. I barely saw her." Cyn's voice catches. "I'd fall asleep before she got home and wake up to find lunch packed in the fridge with little notes inside that said things like 'Study hard today, baby girl' or 'You're going to change the world someday.' Small things that kept me going."

"My mom was my hero," Cyn continues, her voice soft but strong.

I squeeze her hand gently. "She sounds incredible."

"She is." Cyn's eyes shine with pride. "But she was also terrified. Terrified of ever being that vulnerable again."

She takes another sip of wine, gathering her thoughts.

"Every night when she finally got home, she'd sit on the edge of my bed—even if she thought I was asleep—and she'd whisper the same thing." Cyn's voice shifts, taking on the cadence of her mother's words. "'Never make a man your financial plan.'"

"That's a heavy lesson for a kid," I say softly.

Cyn nods. "It became our mantra. When I'd complain about homework being too hard, she'd remind me that education was my ticket to independence. When I wanted to go to the mall with friends instead of studying for the SAT, she'd say, 'Your future self is counting on you not to let her down.'"

Her finger traces a pattern on the tabletop absentmindedly.

"I took it to heart. Studied until my eyes burned most nights. Joined every club that might look good on college applications. And, in the end, it all worked out like we both hoped. I got the scholarships I needed and now I have an amazing job.”

We fall silent, both deep in thought. Finally, I speak. "Thanks for sharing all that. I understand where you’re coming from. And I don’t want to jeopardize what you’ve built."

Cyn's eyes lock with mine, and suddenly, the bar feels too crowded, too public.

“And even with all that, I still want to be with you,” she says, a smile playing on her lips.

My heart stops in its tracks.

"Your place?" she suggests, her voice low.

I nod, trying to keep my excitement in check. "Let's go."