Page 7

Chapter 6

Keelan

T here aren't many things that can get me down in life. I guess that's just what happens when you experience something as earth-shattering as losing both your parents at only sixteen.

When your whole world comes crashing down in an instant, you tend to take everything else that just pales in comparison in stride.

I flip my favorite puck around and around in my hand as I sit in my ice bath. My physical therapist just increased my time in the bath, so I need something to focus on other than the seconds slowly ticking by on the table next to me.

Seven minutes have gone by. Eight more to go. Nearly halfway there.

Usually, I take this time to clear my mind. Meditate. Try to relax.

But tonight, something feels off.

It could be that we lost to our division rivals. They'll be holding that over our heads until we play them again next month.

But the more I try to ignore it—the more that nagging feeling in my chest becomes more pronounced.

It's Rina.

It was that look in her eyes at the game, standing next to Jenny. And my mind keeps drifting back to that summer when we were young. The one where everything changed between us. The one that we both refuse to acknowledge now that we're adults with fully formed pre-frontal cortexes.

At least, I'd like to assume as much. I don't have evidence that mine is, and judging by the way I've been acting lately—I wouldn't be surprised to find out that Rina's been right all along. Maybe I am a man-child.

I glance at the clock and continue to turn the puck over in my hand.

Seven and a half minutes left. Shit. It feels like time's going by slower than usual.

Anyways… where was I? Puck. Ice bath. Losing… ah, Rina. All roads always lead to Rina when it comes to my train of thought.

It's been over a decade, and somehow, the woman still manages to completely enthrall and infuriate me.

Man-child .

Because I wanted to have fun while I still could—knowing that the only thing in life that would make me happy would be to finish what my dad had started so many years before me.

Man-child.

Because I always put the team first.

Man-child.

Because I picked it… over her. Even though she knew what I was trying to do. She knew how important this career was to me. She couldn't wait for me. She chose to leave.

So many nights, I've wondered what I could've done differently, what I could've said to make her stay. What I could've changed to prove to her that she meant so much more to me than I ever let on.

But I was young. And so was she.

Man-child. I scoff.

I would always pick hockey. Because when I was the most alone in this world—hockey was the only thing that gave me a family when I needed it the most.

I look at the clock. Six more minutes. Fuck. I'm cold.

I switch the puck to the other hand and start to roll it around and around in the same way, moving my wrist—my dad's signature flipping in and out of view as I do.

"Take care of your sister." I hear his hoarse voice faint in my memories. "And son, I believe in you. Go all the way, Keelan."

That night. That dark, fateful night—with eyes puffy from crying, knowing I would never hear my mother's voice again, holding my six-year-old sister as he spoke his final words. That dark night, my dad planted a tiny seed of light.

He gave me the path I would need to follow. I would finish what he started. All the years of training. All the investment. I would make him proud.

And I have. I think. I would hope.

Five more minutes.

I sink a little further in, feeling the ice-cold water play at the nape of my neck. I came so close to losing it all last year.

The accident that we never speak of… it must've been almost exactly a year ago.

Man-child.

I wasn't such a man-child when she got up from her seat at the back of the plane and cleared her throat so that I would notice just a row ahead of her.

I wasn't such a man-child when I met her in the bathroom while my sister and most of my teammates slept to the hum of the plane's engines.

Or when I looked around to make sure the flight attendants weren't watching before I came up behind her as she opened the bathroom door and grabbed her by the hips, pressing myself to her like I hadn't done in years.

She had let out the tiniest of moans. That stoic, rock-hard facade of hers crumbled with every word I whispered into her ear.

She still wanted me.

She still hoped.

I could feel it in every fiber of my body.

Even as my hand slid up her shirt and took hold of her breast. Even as our lips met in frantic, needy movements.

She knew it. And I knew it.

We spent over a decade resenting each other. Only to be brought together by the very thing that tore us apart—hockey.

But I was a player. And she was staff. And she made it very clear that's how it would have to be.

And I respected her choice.

Until… Redmond.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

I pull myself out of the bath, surprised at how fast the time went by thinking of her.

A door closes somewhere in the hall, and I can hear familiar voices echoing down its corridors.

"Hello, Mack."

"Did you get my—"

"Email, yes. I did."

"I cc'd Landry."

My ears perk up even more.

"I saw. So you'd like for us to get started…?"

"Immediately, Ms. Lopez. I'm already dealing with pressure from the commissioner."

"Again?"

"Again."

"Ok, we'll get on it."

We?

"Ms. Lopez?"

"Yes, Mack?"

"You're the best in the business. Please don't make me regret hiring you."

There's a long pause. It's so quiet I can hear a pin drop. But now my ear is firmly pressed against the door.

"You won't," Rina says.

"Good. How are things going with Ms. Cobbs?"

Another long pause. "Great. Couldn't be better."

I almost laugh out loud.

"Well, good. I expect her to be fully up to speed before Thanksgiving."

"She will be."

"That's what I like to hear. Well, Goodnight Lopez. I'm sure you'll need plenty of rest for tomorrow."

"Thank you, Mack."

I hear the sound of heels clicking away down the hall. And I peel my ear away from the door.

I'm still dripping wet and completely naked when the door opens up behind me.