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THIRTEEN

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome aboard United flight number 1775 bound for Chicago O’Hare. We kindly ask for your attention as we demonstrate the safety features of this aircraft. Please ensure that all carry-on luggage is stowed securely…” the flight attendant drones over the intercom system.

My knees bounce as I try to settle in for the flight home. Leaving Hannah this morning was painful, but I remind myself she’ll be with me in Chicago in less than a week.

She’s really trying hard to pretend the kiss didn’t happen, maybe a little too hard. When she hugged me goodbye, it felt awkward, like I was some creepy uncle she didn’t want to get too close to. I really hope I didn’t screw things up before they even started. But she’s the one who initiated the kiss, right? So, even if it freaked her out, I hope she’s at least attracted to me on some level. Or she had too much tequila. I quickly shake off that thought.

Before meeting Hannah, I avoided romantic relationships. Avoided becoming attached. I didn’t want something or someone becoming more important to me than hockey, but then she came along. And from the moment I met her, I’ve been drawn to her.

It’s like there’s an invisible thread that ties us together. No matter how hard I’ve tried to ignore it, bury it, or sever it, our connection remains, quietly pulling at me.

Does she feel it, too? I thought she did, back during that first summer we spent together. There was something between us, but then I introduced her to Jace, and everything changed.

What I learned from that experience is that, just like in hockey, you miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take. And just like with hockey, I will not fuck up my second chance.

Challenges are inevitable, but they won’t stop me from going after what I want. Challenge #1: her regretting our kiss. Lesson #1: She’s skittish, so to avoid spooking her, I need to take baby steps. I should really write this down—a to-do list or maybe a rules list. A little of both. Like most things in my life, I function best with a plan. That’s it. A plan.

The man next to me is engrossed in his laptop, occasionally jotting down notes on a legal pad. I tap my finger on the tray table to catch his attention. When he glances over, I offer a polite smile. “Hey, sorry to bother you, but could I grab a sheet of paper?”

He eyes me quizzically but hands over a sheet without a word. I dig around in my backpack for a pen and get to work.

The Plan: Do’s and Don’t

Don’t kiss her again.

No, really don’t kiss her again.

Unless she kisses you?

Yeah okay, you can return her affection when she gives it (but let her set the pace).

Don’t make grand proclamations that could scare her off.

Do take baby steps.

Do add a four-legged family member. Everyone is happier with a dog, right?

Don’t take advice from Fox, Volk, or King.

Do take advice from You’re The One—they’re the experts on it, right?

Do be her friend.

Don’t be just her friend.

Off the plane and into the fire? The fire being my agent’s office. I can’t keep blowing him off. Since our text exchange when I landed in Florida, he’s called and texted me several times, all of which I’ve ignored. I didn’t want to risk ruining the weekend, not knowing if the news would be good or bad. But my avoidance can only last so long, so instead of heading home to my apartment, I take the rideshare straight to his office.

My contract is up at the end of the season, which is quickly approaching. I’m hoping he has some good news for me. The uncertainty of not knowing is getting to me. Will they re-sign me? Are they negotiating my salary? Are they trying to trade me in the offseason? Will I become a free agent again? Of all the possibilities, that’s the one I dread the most. I came into the NHL as a free agent, and I have no desire to go through that again. I thrive on routine and structure, so the uncertainty of it all doesn’t sit well with me.

“What do you have for me?” I ask, settling into the chair across from Mike Greenburg, the man I have to thank for my career thus far. Who knows if I’d even be playing professionally if he hadn’t believed in me when others wrote me off?

“You’d know if you returned any of my calls.” He shuffles papers around his desk.

“Yeah, sorry about that. But I’m here now, so what’s the deal?”

“As of now? There is no deal. The Saints’ general manager is dragging his feet on an offer. I need to know what you’re open to.”

What I’m open to? My heart feels like it’s going to beat straight out of my chest. No deal? They still have a month until the trade deadline—March 7th. The date is haunting me. “You think they’re waiting until after the trade deadline?”

“Honestly, probably. They might be looking to acquire a player and need to hold off on renegotiations until they figure out the salary cap. That’s my guess. But we need to be ready for all scenarios, and one of those is the possibility of you playing for a different team next season.”

That’s not something I want to consider. Logically, I know that’s always a possibility with this career, but with Hannah moving to Chicago, it’s the last thing I want to hear right now. It’s not like she’s moving here for me. If I leave, we’ll be right back where we started—in a long-distance friendship.

Over the years, Hannah has opened up about feeling boxed in by Knolls’ career. What if, by some miracle, she gives a proper relationship with me a chance? I don’t want to do the same thing he did. I know she’ll go along with what’s best for everyone else, even if it means sacrificing her own happiness. But I don’t want to be another person who makes her choose.

“So, what do you suggest we do? I don’t want to entertain other offers yet. You know how much I want to stay in Chicago, with the Saints.”

“All right. We’ll wait and see what happens with the trade deadline. Once we have all the information, we’ll figure out our next step. But answer your phone when I call, yeah?”

I stand, shake his hand, and head out of his office.

Dominic Fox:

I’m outside.

I spot Fox’s yellow Lamborghini immediately—it’s hard to miss. Getting into the passenger seat feels like a workout, having to squat just to slide in.

“Dude, this is the most impractical car. You’re taller than me. How the fuck is this comfortable to drive?”

“Not everything is about practicality, my friend. The chicks love this car.”

“Because you need a car to impress women? Your hockey status isn’t enough?”

“Don’t even need that. My tattoos and charming smile are enough to drop panties.” He shoots me said smile and winks. “So how was Florida? How’d it go with your girl?”

“She kissed me.”

“What’re we in third grade? She kissed you , that’s it?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

He gives me a look, half amused, half serious. “Are you sure this chick is worth all the effort? Is she even into you?”

“I’m certain she’s worth it. She has some hang-ups, understandably, after being with Knolls. But I have a plan.”

“Of course you do,” he says with a chuckle, shaking his head.

I punch him in the arm to shut him up. “She’s moving here, and she’s staying with me.”

“Oh, the one-bed trope.” He nods.

“The what?”

“You know, in romance books—only one bed, forced proximity.”

“You, Mr. Anti-Love, being into romance books is still the funniest shit ever.” Fox may come off as a guy who gives no fucks to most people, but behind all that, he’s a big softy. “And it won’t be one bed. I’m buying a new place,” I add.

“You’re kidding me. First, you can’t move, we’re neighbors. Second, you can’t buy a place for a girl you’re not even with.” His tone makes it clear he thinks I’m an idiot.

“I’m not doing it just for her.” Which is partially true. “I want more space, and I’m tired of living in a high-rise. I want privacy.”

“So what, you’re going to move to the suburbs? You’re twenty-five and single. You’re too young and too single for the burbs.” He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“I’ll be twenty-six in a couple of months,” I mutter.

“Not the point,” he singsongs.

I chuckle. “Not going to the burbs. I’m looking for a brownstone in a quieter area of the city. I’m going to see some after practice.”

“All right, I’ll come with you.”

I eye him. “That’s unnecessary.”

“You’re losing your head, bud. I think it is. You need a voice of reason.”

“And you, of all people, are going to be my voice of reason?”

He shrugs. “Someone’s gotta do it.”

“I think this is it,” I tell Fox and the realtor. We stand in the kitchen of what will hopefully be my new home. “Let’s put in an offer.”

When Hannah and I were broke college students—okay, maybe I was the only broke one—we were walking around the city and stumbled across an open house. It was hot, and we figured it’d be a good way to cool off and maybe snag some free food. So, we walked in and pretended to be a young married couple hunting for our dream home. We definitely didn’t pull it off, but the realtor humored us and let us tour the place anyway.

I still remember how her face lit up over the smallest details: the stained wood molding, the nine-foot ceilings, the butler’s pantry, and the iron terraces. She couldn’t stop talking about the charm and character, saying, “One day, I’ll live in a place just like this.” That’s what this place reminds me of, and I want to make her “one day” dream a reality now.

“I saw a sign for the one next door. Is it available? Can we see it?” Fox asks.

“Nah, this one checks all the boxes.” I turn toward the realtor. “The current owners have already moved out. I know we can’t close in a week, but do you think we could arrange a rental agreement before the closing date?”

“That would actually strengthen your offer. The owners have already relocated, and they are looking for a fast close. I’m sure an interim rental agreement would thrill them. Should I prepare an offer?”

“Yeah. I want to move in as soon as possible. I have a new roommate moving in next week.”

“I’ll make the call,” she tells me before directing her attention to Fox. “The place next door is priced a bit higher, but it does have a more modern design.” Hannah doesn’t like modern; she constantly made comments about her place in Dallas feeling like a hospital. Definitely not the vibe I’m going for.

“Modern sounds perfect to me. Lead the way.” Fox follows her out.

Even though I’ve been giving him shit all day about his separation anxiety, the idea of him being my neighbor doesn’t sound so bad. I just can’t picture him settling down, especially in a neighborhood like this. It’s nothing like the high-rise bachelor pads we live in now. That should freak me out, but it doesn’t. I’m ready for this.

Alone for the first time all day, I take my phone out and call Hannah. She picks up on the second ring. Before I hear her voice, there’s a quiet clearing of her throat, followed by a few heavy breaths. “Hi…” she finally says.

“Hey, Sunshine, did I interrupt something?”

“Nope!” she answers too enthusiastically.

“Why’re you breathing heavily?”

Her reply starts with a burst of nervous laughter. “Oh, yeah, that. I’m moving boxes.”

Her awkwardness and forced enthusiasm aren’t lost on me. So much for moving on like the kiss never happened. This might take longer to bounce back from than I anticipated. I might have to revisit my plan.

Silence stretches between us, heavy and loud, before she finally asks, “Are we okay?”

“Of course we are,” I say quickly, doing my best to reassure her, wanting more than anything for it to be the truth.

“Okay, good.” She doesn’t sound convinced.

Trying to ease her into conversation, I keep things light, and after a few more exchanges, she finally starts to warm up, the pauses becoming less uncomfortable. Hopefully, when she gets here, I’ll be able to ease some of the worry she’s clearly feeling.

“So, moving boxes?” I ask.

“I’m sorting through the stuff Jace shipped to me,” she admits, her voice a bit more relaxed now. “I guess two weeks was his limit for holding on to my things. He was supposed to send them to my new place once I got settled, but honestly, it’s better this way. Now he won’t know I’m in Chicago.”

“Yeah, probably for the best. Did you start packing yet?”

“I’m trying to figure out what to pack and what to store at my parents’ house. I don’t want to overwhelm your space with all my stuff.”

“Don’t worry about that. We have more than enough space for all your things,” I reassure her, glancing around the kitchen, which has more cabinets and drawers than I’ve ever seen in one place.

“Oh, guess what I found? Remember all those paper airplanes you used to throw at me in calculus? And all the others you made me over the years? I forgot where I hid them, but while repacking my life, I’ve unearthed them.”

She kept them. The thought makes my chest tight. I can guarantee she’s never opened them, though. Had she known what was written inside, I’d like to think we’d be in a different place now. “Yeah, I remember. I didn’t know you kept them.”

“You know me, I never throw anything away. Before I forget, what’s your new address? I’m going to ship most of my things there.”

A smile breaks across my face at the reminder that she’ll be here soon. “I’ll send it to you. I’m putting in an offer on this place. I’m actually here now, checking it out. You’re gonna love it.”

“Oh, when you said you were moving, I thought you meant you already had the place. This isn’t about me moving in, is it?”

“Pfft, no,” I say, convincing absolutely no one.

“Ryan.”

“Hannah.”

“I really hope you’re not doing this just to make space for me. I’d feel terrible if that’s the case.”

“No, it’s for me. The apartment doesn’t feel like home anymore.” Which is true. When I signed with the Saints, it didn’t feel permanent. Hell, it still doesn’t feel permanent. But I really want all this to work out. Manifestation and all that shit. “I can’t wait for you to get here. I know we just left each other, but I miss you.”

There’s a pause, and for a moment, I think she’s not going to return the sentiment. “I miss you too,” she finally says, barely above a whisper.

The front door opens and shuts. “Honey, I’m home!” Fox’s voice echoes through the space.

“Oh God, is Dominic going to be our roommate?” Hannah asks in my ear.

I can’t help but laugh at that. “Hell no, but it sounds like he may be our neighbor.”

“Lovely.”

“I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Okay, bye, Ry.”

I end the call right as Fox barrels into the space with the realtor on his heels. He slings his arm over my shoulders. “Was that your girl? Hope you told her the good news, neighbor.”

God help me.