Page 4

Tenzin

M y phone rang, and I silenced it as I exited the subway, weaving through the throng of people bustling on this Friday morning in New York City. A few people gave me looks as I made my way down the busy sidewalk.

It could be because I was six-foot-eight, tall even for an alpha. It could also be because I was a professional hockey player.

A small child stopped and stared at me, tugging on his mom’s pant leg. I waved, but didn’t stop.

My phone rang again. No. I didn’t want to talk to any of them. It buzzed with a text.

Morgan

You’re selling our house?

It was my house and I could sell it if I wanted. Maybe I should have told her before I put it on the market, but she’d moved in with them some time ago.

Did I even answer her? I should block her. After all, we’d broken up. She’d moved on. Yet there was something so final about doing so.

Me

If you have anything there, you should move it out.

I entered the New York Ice Training Center. Yesterday, I’d come by on my own out of curiosity. Today I was here to sign some papers, shake some hands, and make a big change.

The Portland Sasquatches had been good to me. I loved my coaches, my teammates, and the city of Portland. We were the second-ranked team in the PHL. I’d been ready to re-sign with a big contract. I’d been happy.

Then my life blew up.

My agent had been beyond supportive of helping me find a way to quickly and quietly leave the Sasquatches without making enemies. She’d done phenomenal work, considering she was literally in labor right now.

I didn’t want to leave the Sasquatches. But, it was better this way. Not only was New York City across the country, my ex hated it with a passion.

A group of kids carrying hockey sticks waved at me as they filed past. I waved back, my heart breaking a little. I followed the signs for the Knights’ offices.

“You’re the Yeti,” the security guard at the elevator said, as he confirmed my appointment with Bunty Longfellow, the Knights general manager.

“I am.” That had been my hockey nickname in high school. The Sasquatches had found it hilarious when they’d discovered it while I was a rookie and it stuck .

His eyes got wide. “Are you…”

I put a finger to my lips. I didn’t want this to get out yet.

He pretended to zip his lips. “Understood.”

I took the elevator up, and it opened into a reception area. A man in a suit waited for me. He was an older alpha, gray in his hair and lines on his face. While Bunty Longfellow had been a good GM for a long time, many had called for his retirement–and for the owner of the Knights to step down–after a debacle last season, involving them trying to illegally fire one of their most popular players.

Bunty extended a hand. “Mr. Brooks, I hope you had a pleasant flight from Portland. I’m honored that you came all the way out here, instead of handling it over the phone and through your agent.”

“I wanted to show you that I’m serious. Which is also why I wanted to sign with you sooner rather than later.” I didn’t plan on going back to Portland other than to handle some business.

“Come into my office.” He ushered me into his large office, and we went through the usual coffee and niceties.

Bunty leaned forward over his big wooden desk. “We’re beyond excited that you want to join the Knights. We could use a defender like you since Elias Royce retired.”

That’s why we’d approached the Knights. They’d be looking for a solid defender to fill the void left by their captain.

“I could use a team just like you. After all, the championship win is where Grif Graf is, right?” I joked, trying to get comfortable in the too-small chair, even though it was clearly meant for large alphas.

He laughed. “Absolutely.”

The Sasquatches had lost the PHL championships two years in a row. First to the Biscayne Bay Hurricanes, the second to the New York Knights. Both times, forward Griffin McGraff had been part of the winning team.

“He’ll be sad that he’s no longer the biggest guy on the Knights,” Bunty chuckled.

Grif Graf was a big guy, but not as tall as me.

We got down to business, going over the contract, which was incredibly generous. I’d expected them to counteroffer and had been prepared to accept. But they hadn’t. They’d even added things, as if I needed enticement.

All I’d asked for was the caveat that while other players could know, I didn’t want me joining the team announced to the press until closer to the start of the season.

I signed the contract and shook Bunty’s hand again.

He handed me a black and silver Knights hat. “Are you sure you don’t want it announced today? Usually a player like you would have all the fanfare, like a press conference, and photo ops with your new jersey.”

“I’m not really a fanfare sort of guy and I appreciate your willingness to keep this quiet. Closer to the start of the season, I'll be happy to participate in whatever promo you want,” I replied, putting the hat on my head.

“I can respect that.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Let me give you a tour and introduce you around, and we’ll get everything set.”

“When you’re ready to move, I can help you with arrangements. We have an agreement with an apartment building if you’re looking to lease. I know real estate agents if you’re looking to buy. Car leases, moving companies, we can get it all handled. I even have a cheat sheet with utilities, grocery delivery, and everything you need to get started,” someone in operations, a man named Devon, told me.

“Perfect. For now, I’d like to get an apartment,” I replied. I’d already gotten a tour, had lunch, met with HR and had given them all my documents, as well as had a chat with their PR person. The new assistant GM hadn’t started yet. Theirs had left after Bunty hadn’t been fired.

“Great, were you thinking of moving here in late August? Give you a chance to get settled before training camp?” Devon typed on his laptop. He was a very efficient beta in his early thirties.

“How quickly could I move in? I’m staying at the Stonefeld Manhattan Hotel right now,” I replied. While my hotel was nice, it would feel more real once I’d gotten settled.

I needed something to feel real right now.

“Oh. So soon. Okay. Do you have friends or family here?” He started typing.

“Not really. I’m looking forward to exploring all the museums. I had a graphic arts minor back at university,” I replied. My ex hated art museums and always rushed me through them. I had one friend here, but he was out of town.

“There are some nice museums here. Let me see what I can do. How many bedrooms? Sorry, I don’t remember if you have a pack or mate, or anything.”

“It’s just me. Whatever is fine. So is short term. I might buy something after I sell my place in Portland. Who knows?” One step at a time.

Devon got to work. By the time he finished, I had an apartment in a building where several other players lived, and a lot of useful information, and the name of a reputable cross-country mover. Not that I’d be moving a lot.

I also got my credentials, which would enable me to use the training center, so I could stay in shape during the off-season.

After we finished, I wandered around a little. The facilities for the team seemed nice, and off-season access to the rink, gym, trainers, and physios was always a plus. We shared some facilities, like the gyms, with the Maimers, a skate smash team owned by the same family. The teams had their own spaces, too.

Yesterday, the nice rink manager had let me use a small rink reserved for professional practice. I’d been impressed—especially by the little pink-haired goalie. My guess was that she was local, maybe a recent draft pick, wanting to make a good impression when she met her team.

I found myself in a dining room for Knights’ staff and players, the one I’d eaten in earlier. On the wall was a photo of a woman with dark, wavy hair, holding a mask and in full goalie gear. It was faded, the style of both the uniform and gear older. There was a little plaque underneath. Someone had hung a necklace made of pasta noodles from the corner of the frame. Maria Barilla, first beta goalie in the PHL.

Huh. Never heard of her. I snapped a picture and sent it to my friend Cooter–one of the Sasquatch’s goalies and my best friend.

Cooter

All Hail the Queen of the Goalies. Where the fuck are you?

I took a picture of me in the Knights hat.

Cooter

Already?

Me

Why wait? Fishing trips are still on. Visit whenever.

Cooter

Are you not coming back?

Cooter and I had started with the Sasquatches together and had bonded over fishing and country music. I’d miss him.

Not that Cooter was in Portland right now. He was back on his family’s horse ranch in the Appalachians, where he spent his off-season helping out and doing the books.

Me

I’ll get my things once I sell the house.

Cooter

Does she know you moved?

Me

Keep those loose lips shut.

He sent a picture of himself holding his lips together.

Cooter

Maybe I should get in on that huge multi-team trade. I think Jersey needs a goalie. Then we can find the best honky-tonk in New York together.

A multi-team trade seemed like a nightmare, and I hoped he was kidding. It would be nice to be close to him, but the Sasquatches wanted to lose him even less than me. Not to mention Jersey seemed to go through a lot of goalies.

I ordered a car to take me to my new place. It was a sleek and modern building with a door-attendant and concierge. My floor even had a private elevator.

The one-bedroom was spacious and furnished. Devon had told me I could trade everything out through the furniture rental company. I took a bunch of pictures and measurements, so I could look at the website when I returned to the hotel.

The kitchen was pleasant, but definitely needed a few things. Not that I was much of a cook. The living room and dining room were open concept. I could fit an alpha-sized bed in the bedroom. Oh, and the view of the city was spectacular .

Morgan

Are you at Cooter’s? We should talk.

Me

There’s nothing to talk about. I wish you a happy life.

Not really. But after weeks of soul-searching, I knew I didn’t want to reconcile. I didn’t want to join her new pack. She’d torn my heart into a million little pieces, then ground them into the floor with her high heels.

I was ready to start over. This time, when my contract was up, I’d have more to show for it than an empty house and a broken heart.