Page 27

Chapter Twenty-Two

Alex

Earlier that morning…

My phone rings incessantly, infiltrating my consciousness as I groan in annoyance. My head is killing me from a long night, but if I’m being honest, I think it’s just the culmination of a long couple weeks.

Vegas, wedding planning, the wedding…

Memories of last night resurface as I stir, the incessant ringing somehow louder. I reach for my phone, cursing whoever has decided to call me at the tender hour of eight am. On a Saturday. When I am hungover as fuck.

These people should burn in hell.

I answer without checking the number.

“Hello,” I grumble.

“Hello, is this Alex Brewer I’m speaking with?” a woman asks .

“In the fucking flesh,” I murmur.

There’s a pause as she clears her throat.

“Hello, Mr. Brewer, this is Caroline Ketchum, the team coordinator for the Reading Rioters—”

My eyes widen and suddenly I’m more awake than I’ve ever been in my fucking life. I jerk up straight, the covers flying off me.

I clear my throat, running one hand through my hair as I suck in a breath and try to focus.

“I’m calling because we’ve sent you several emails over the last week, and we haven’t heard a response from you. We wanted to make sure you were still interested in playing for our team.”

I close my eyes, trying to still my breath.

We wanted to make sure you were still interested in playing for our team.

They fucking want me.

They want me!

I let out a breath, doing my best impression of an adult who has their shit together.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t get any emails, but… it’s been a busy week. I got back from Vegas Monday and my brother just got married yesterday, so—”

“Oh, congratulations! That’s so exciting!” Caroline says sweetly.

“The answer is yes,” I say firmly. “Yes, I absolutely am still interested in playing for the Rioters. ”

“Oh, good!” Caroline says. “I was hoping you’d say yes, so I wouldn’t have to cancel the airline ticket.”

“Airline ticket?” I ask, my heart in my throat.

“Oh! Yes, silly me, look at me rambling here. We need you to fly out and meet with us to sign the official contract, of course.”

My heart is beating a thousand miles a minute and my entire body is hot like a flame.

They want me.

This is it! This is my fucking shot!

“Of course. When, uh…” I look around my room for a pen and paper, flying out of bed when I spot one on the desk. “When is the flight?”

“Since we were trying to contact you earlier this week, the ticket is set for this afternoon. Flight 56D1 out of Norfolk. I will—”

“This afternoon?” My blood freezes. I look at the clock. It’s barely eight fifteen.

“Yes, Mr. Brewer, the flight is set to depart at two pm.”

That’s in six fucking hours.

Norfolk’s a good two hours from here with traffic. Which means I need to leave…

I suck in a breath. “There’s no way to change the flight?”

“No, unfortunately. It is the only available flight today, and the deadline for this offer is tonight, Mr. Brewer. I understand you’ve had personal matters, but we have followed our contractor’s obligation to keep the offer on the table for one week before it will be closed and offered to someone else. I hope you understand.”

I close my eyes, knowing it’s now or never.

This might be my only shot. I’ve waited my whole life for this—to be able to play professionally. Yeah, it’s not the NHL, but it’s the Jungle—the AHL—which means one day I could potentially get on a national team if I take this opportunity and work my fucking ass off.

It also means I’m going to have to move to Pennsylvania.

But this is what I wanted. This…

This is all I’ve ever wanted—and it seems it’s all that’s ever wanted me.

“Can you email me the ticket?” I ask.

“Yes, I can certainly forward it to you,” she says happily.

“That would be great, thanks,” I say.

“I’ll arrange for someone to pick you up once you land, and I’ll set up lodging for while we finalize everything.”

“Great,” I choke out, emotion clogging my throat.

“Alright then, I will be in touch once I’ve got the confirmations for those. We ask that while negotiations are taking place, you keep any and everything regarding said negotiations quiet until we make an official announcement, of course. ”

“Of course,” I say.

“Welcome to the Rioters, Mr. Brewer,” she coos. “Unofficially, of course, but we’re so excited to have you.”

“Thanks, Caroline,” I say as the line goes dead.

There’s a moment of pause before the truth sinks in. I made it.

I fucking made it!

“Fuck yeah, baby!” I scream, kicking my legs like a damn kid on Christmas morning.

The excitement is short-lived as I realize I have to get my shit together—fast—and get my ass to Norfolk asap.

I’ve never moved so quickly in all my life. I don’t even bother to change out of my suit. I grab my duffel bag and head out of my room, nearly pummeling Hudson and his bag of greasy breakfast food.

“Watch it, Alex,” he grumbles. “Where’s the fucking fire?”“I’m going to the fucking AHL, baby!” I shout with excitement, the biggest grin on my face. “Rioters, here I fucking come!”Hudson looks at me in confusion before grunting out a dejected sigh and opens his hotel room door.

“Gotta go!” I say as I make my way down to the lobby, calling up an Uber. I don’t have time to fuck around and go home, not if I want to make it to the airport on time.

Whatever happens, I’ll figure it out from here. I’m sure I’ll be back at some point to get my stuff and move. It’s not like I’m jumping on this plane and never coming back or anything.

I’m so excited I can barely contain myself. I want to tell everyone. I want to shout it from the fucking rooftops. All my hard work paid off. I did it!

Me, disaster on wheels Alex fucking Brewer, made the cut. The sky’s the limit from here.

My fingers hover over Mack’s number, but I don’t press it.

It’s like a splash of cold water to my system. I want to tell him. After everything that happened between us recently, it feels like I could tell him and maybe he’d be just as excited, but…

It’s the aftermath, and I know what Jordan Mackenzie is like the morning after a drunk hook up. I know how last night’s actions become this morning’s regrets. Hell, last night, after I blew him in the bathroom, he immediately regretted it.

I’m no fool; I know drunk Mack and sober Mack are not on the same page. And I know given the amount of alcohol he had—that we both had—he’s probably just as hungover as I am.

I should let it go. I should accept what happened between us was a fluke.

Vegas was amazing…

It was a heat of the moment thing because we were drunk and in the city of sin. Everyone hooks up in Vegas .

Last night was amazing…

But two drunk hookups do not equal a relationship, and I’m sure given the circumstances of last night’s activities, I’m the last person he wants to hear from.

We’ve done this dance already, and I’ve seen the morning afters with Mack.

They aren’t pretty, and I’m not sure I can take the anger he’ll throw my way.

Also, I don’t want to deal with it. I won’t let him, or another person, ruin my good mood. Because I fucking did it.

I swipe past his name, even though I want nothing more than to call him and scream at the top of my lungs that I made it! I’m going to Pennsylvania!

Instead, I find myself calling my number one contact.

Not my mother, or my brother, or my boss.

Britt.

She answers the phone, sounding just as hungover as Hudson.

“It’s eight thirty, Alex,” she complains. “How are you up this early? Fuck.”

“I made the team,” I say as my Uber pulls up and I get in. I watch the Pine Ridge Resort disappear through the window.

“Are you fucking shitting me right now?” Her voice changes to one of equal surprise.

“Dead serious, baby. I’m on my way to the airport right this minute. ”

“Holy shit! You made the team!”“It’s not official yet, and I’m not supposed to say anything, I guess, not until I sign the papers but—”

“I’m so proud of you, Alex! That’s amazing!” she squeals. “You are going to kick fucking ass, babe!”

I smirk at her excitement, but it doesn’t feel as good as it should, because I wish it was someone else telling me they are proud of me.

Like my parents.

Like Jordan.

But I won’t hear those words from either of them, likely ever, and maybe that’s for the best. So I nod and force a smile even though Britt can’t see me.

“Thanks,” I say, my voice quieter than it should be.

“Call me when you get settled,” she says sleepily. “And if you need anything…”

“I know,” I say. “If I need you, I’ll let you know.”

“K. Have a safe trip,” she says.

I thank her, end the call, and watch Ashbourne disappear in silence.

When I get into the Morgantown airport in West Virginia, it’s nearing four thirty and I’m tired as hell.

Staring at myself in the mirror in the men’s room, I make an effort to wash my face and try to make my hair look more put together by running my fingers through it with some cold water.

I straighten my shirt to my best ability, opting to leave the first two buttons undone.

I’d taken off my tie and vest at the Norfolk airport and stuffed it in my bag.

The tux has to be returned Monday, and I should have no issue as I don’t see myself being here more than a few days, though Caroline didn’t mention a return trip, but I supposed that’ll all get hashed out after I sign my contract.

Worst case, I pay the shop for the damn tux and don’t worry about returning it.

My phone goes off with a text from Caroline telling me one of the Rioters—my teammates—is picking me up.

Vance Harding. I’ve heard the name, but I don’t know much about the guy other than he’s a beast on the ice. His record is solid, and I’ve heard rumors that the NHL was looking at him, but being as he’s still playing for the Rioters, I guess it was just a rumor.

Not long after Caroline’s text comes through, I get one from an unknown number.

Caroline said you needed a ride. I’m outside rideshare. Silver Jetta.

Cool, thanks! I’m on my way!