Page 41 of Writing Mr. Wrong

GEMMA

M ason had to board immediately, but he kept up a text conversation long after he should have put his phone in airplane mode.

After that, she had a lovely dinner with the woman who’d given up her seat, who turned out to be a retired high school history teacher.

They enjoyed a leisurely meal, and by the time it ended, their plane was almost ready to board… and Mason was texting from Vancouver.

Gemma had been surreptitiously following his flight, worried it could be delayed. It wasn’t. He landed on time and whipped through customs.

They kept texting while he was in the car and she was boarding.

He promised that another driver would be waiting to take her home.

They’d discussed whether she’d go to the arena, but she’d be lucky to make it before the game ended, and then he had something else he needed to do, and she wasn’t giving him any excuse to skip that.

Her flight was uneventful, and she was following the driver to the car when her phone buzzed with an incoming email. Seeing it was from Mason, she frowned and checked her watch. Nine thirty. The game should still be going. Was something wrong?

She quickly opened the email to find a video. After making sure it was definitely from Mason, she clicked it.

Mason’s face filled the screen. The background noise suggested he was in a car, which made her heart pound. Something was wrong. He’d been sent home.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I recorded this on the way to the game. It’s coming to you now via the magic of scheduled email. I have a proposition for you.”

She turned down the volume fast.

“No, not that kind,” he said on the screen.

She smiled and shook her head.

On the video, he continued, “I know we discussed the problems with things like surprise parties or being picked up last minute for a trip. So if this doesn’t work for you, do not feel obligated to agree.

I just thought I’d suggest it. As for what it is…

” He paused dramatically. “Okay, the email should be there now. Hit pause until you’ve read it. ”

She stopped the video and checked her email. Nothing. Had it gone to spam?

A bing as the email appeared. She read it, grinned, and hit Play on the video.

Prerecorded Mason continued, “You’ve read my suggestion. The driver is prepared for two possible destinations tonight. If you want to go home, tell her you want option A. Otherwise, option B. Either way, it’s your choice.”

Gemma stopped the video and caught up with the driver.

“Option B, please.”

The woman dipped her chin. “Yes, ma’am.”

MASON

Gemma had taken him up on his offer. He got that text as soon as he retrieved his phone, and he exhaled in relief.

He didn’t think his suggestion qualified as an unwelcome surprise—just spontaneity—but he hadn’t been sure.

Better yet, she’d agreed with a line of exclamation marks.

So that was settled, and he couldn’t wait to see her.

He did, however, have something he needed to do first.

He didn’t have a chance to say hi to Denny before the game, and that pissed him off because it felt deliberate, as if everyone was keeping them apart to avoid awkwardness. Which only made the damn game even more awkward.

Could that mean Denny didn’t want to speak to him?

Maybe. A week ago—hell, even yesterday—that would have sent him spiraling into guilt and self-recriminations and, of course, avoidance.

But now that he’d opened up to Gemma, he accepted that if there’d been any jealousy behind what he did, it was subconscious.

That didn’t make it okay. It just meant that he hadn’t deliberately let the kid get hurt, but he’d still need to deal with all the stuff that had made him freeze up.

If Denny was angry, Mason would deal with that. Not avoid it. Not pretend he didn’t see it. Deal with it.

Denny seemed okay during the game. He’d nodded to Mason and accepted Mason’s gruff “good to see you” with a blazing smile. The kid really was a fucking ray of sunshine, and if that made Mason feel old and cranky, well, that was on him. No one needed a team full of assholes.

After the game, he again felt herded, this time kept away from anyone with a camera or other recording device. That was fine. This was Denny’s moment. The kid had not only returned but scored the winning goal in the final moments of the last period.

Mason changed and then hung out waiting for Denny.

When he appeared, Mason barreled through everyone who seemed to be oh so casually between them.

Denny was unlacing his skates while chattering with the goalie.

As Mason neared Denny, he thought, for the hundredth time, Was I ever that young?

The kid looked like he should still be in high school.

Fresh-faced and bright-eyed, with brown hair that stuck up every which way after pulling off his helmet.

“Can we talk?” Mason said. “Once you’re dressed.”

Denny gave that wide smile. “Sure. Just give me a sec.”

Mason stepped away and exchanged a few texts with Gemma. Then Denny was at his elbow.

“Where to?” Denny said.

Mason waved toward the door, and Denny followed him. By now, the stands were empty, the Zamboni on the ice. Mason led Denny to the boards and stood there, watching the hypnotic slow progress of the ice cleaner.

Denny leaned on the boards and looked over. “Thanks for the assist.”

Mason shrugged. Then he said, “I fucked up.”

Denny frowned. “With the assist? It was perfect.”

“No, last month. I should have been there to make sure you didn’t get hurt.”

Denny waved a gloved hand. “I need to learn to take care of myself.”

“No,” Mason said firmly. “Your job is getting goals. Mine is to make sure you’re allowed to get them.”

“Was it the animation?” Denny asked.

“What?”

“The animation on the scoreboard. They didn’t warn you, did they?”

“No, but that’s…” Mason made a face. “It’s just an animation. For the crowds. No big deal.”

“Uh, yes it was. Only you have one, and then they gave me one without warning either of us. That wasn’t right. If I were you, I’d have been pissed.” Denny glanced toward the rink. “And I wouldn’t be too quick to jump in and save me from a fight.”

“That wasn’t it.” Mason caught Denny’s gaze again. “Yeah, the animation caught me off guard. Yeah, it didn’t feel great. But I’d never have taken that out on you. I just… I had a lot going on, and I got distracted.”

“The retirement-plans interview? I heard something about that. I’ve seen reporters do that before. Always asking older players what their plans are. It’s shitty. Like the animation.”

Mason shrugged. “It’s not fun. But yeah, there was that, plus a personal issue, and then the animation. My head wasn’t on straight, and that’s no excuse. I fucked up. But it wasn’t intentional, and it won’t happen again. I was late seeing him go after you, and I turned to get over there and…”

Mason took a deep breath. Just do this. “My knee twinged. It’s been giving me trouble. Not much, just normal shit for a guy my age. I haven’t said anything because it doesn’t slow me down.”

Denny grinned. “I saw you skate tonight. I can’t do that, and I don’t have any knee problems.”

“It didn’t physically stop me from going after you, but up here?

” Mason tapped his forehead. “There was a lot going on up here. Retirement questions. The animation. My knee. It all reminded me that…” He took another deep breath.

“I’m getting too old for this shit, and the kicker is that I don’t feel old.

At all. I’ve been careful, and I’ve been lucky, but the end is coming, and I need to deal with that.

That night, it all came together and I… I froze up. ”

Denny opened his mouth, but Mason kept going.

“Did I deliberately let you get hurt?” Mason said. “No. I’m an asshole, but I’m not that kind of asshole. You don’t deserve it, and the team doesn’t deserve it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t look at you and see…”

Mason leaned against the boards. “You’re my replacement.

Not as right wing or an enforcer. They can find someone for those easily enough.

What’s not so easy is finding another star.

The fans love you. The press loves you. That animation they chose was dead-on.

You’re a shooting star… and I’m a falling one, and that has nothing to do with you personally. I need to deal with it.”

Denny looked like he was going to argue, but then he nodded and leaned on the boards beside Mason.

“You’re dealing with it better than I will,” Denny said softly. “I think about that a lot. We spend our life getting here. We give up…” Denny’s voice caught. “We give up so much to get here, and then it’s over in fifteen years.”

Denny glanced over. “Did anyone ever tell you that high school would be over in a flash? Enjoy it while it lasts, because it won’t last long?”

“Yeah. In my case, they were reassuring me it wouldn’t last long.”

Denny gave a hollow laugh. “That, too. But a hockey career feels just as short. Fifteen years if I’m lucky . And then what?”

Mason shrugged. “And then you lead the part of your life you didn’t get before. Make up for what you missed out on. Look at Jesse. He’s doing amazing things. Me? I’ll probably be the guy playing in three old-timer leagues.”

Denny smiled. “Same.”

“Hockey is what I do. I want the rest. A wife, kids, time to be a partner and a father, but whatever I do for a living, it’ll still be about hockey. It’s what I know, but it’s also what I love.”

A quiet moment passed, and then Denny said, “Can I tell you something?”

“Sure.”

“I saw you play when I was a kid. I’d beg my dad to take us to Growler games, even though we lived in Seattle. And it was because… because the time I saw you in Seattle, you were tearing it up, owning the ice, and looking so damn happy. That…”

Denny’s cheeks flushed. “It was the first time I saw someone who seemed to feel the same way I did out there, and that was when I decided I wanted to make the NHL. And then I was drafted to the Growlers? I could not believe my luck. I got to play with Mason Moretti .”

“Who then let you get slammed into the boards and miss weeks of the season.”

“That wasn’t on you. Yes, you’ll say it was your job, and I think you’ve been beaten up way too much for a simple mistake.

” He met Mason’s eyes. “I know you didn’t do it on purpose.

You wouldn’t do it to the team. If I could ask you to teach me something, that’s it.

How to put the team first. After juniors, I still feel like everyone is my competition, even my teammates.

I know that’s wrong, and I need to get over it. ”

“Sure, I can help with that.” Mason straightened. “Are you heading out? Or do you have time for a beer?”

The kid grinned like a fan being asked to join his hockey hero for a drink.

Mason thought of what Denny said, about following Mason’s games when he was a boy.

He pictured young Denny in the stands and, man, did that make him feel old.

But he’d been a kid in those stands, too, cheering for players long since retired.

And somewhere in the stands tonight, there’d probably been a kid who saw Denny play and said, I want to do that .

That was the cycle, and Mason was part of it.

A career in pro sports was a Roman candle, a brief blast of brilliance, that you had to enjoy while it lasted.

Then it was time to start planning for the next stage.

And for the first time in his life, Mason was starting to think it could be just as amazing and shine just as bright… and maybe last a whole lot longer.