“Gone. New York. Boston. Perhaps even Toronto. They’ve all shown interest. Somewhere with a strong setup and an open management structure. In a city where I can easily escape to a place where I can breathe.” He’d be a free agent when his contract expired. He knew his value had diminished slightly in Arizona. They’d never given him the best opportunity to show how good he could be. But his agent was already fielding unofficial feelers of significant interest.
Anders had a document comparing all the teams. He’d compiled the data himself. While his agent was great, and his management team supportive, any situation where they benefitted was good enough for them, no matter where Anders ended up. The only person genuinely looking out for his best interests was himself.
“Call me if I can help.” Karl patted him on his shoulder and left to join his wife.
Anders debated excusing himself, although he wasn’t sure Karl or Sarah would even notice if he disappeared. While he played a team sport, he didn’t love being around people all the time. Sometimes he needed a break. And he’d been looking forward to some much-needed downtime during the hockey league Christmas break. Instead, he was nearly a thousand miles away from the quiet he craved. His body hadn’t enjoyed the early wake-up after the previous night’s game, with no time to loosen up or work out.
He stretched his legs in front of him and looked around the old building. Ryan Hall, Karl’s teammate and captain of the Denver Rush, leaned against the old rustic bar that looked as though it had been carved out of one long, solid piece of wood. Keir Kannunen, the right to Karl’s left on the defensive line, sat on an ivory leather seat next to Ryan. While three of the walls were a soft cream, one had been left in what he assumed was the distillery’s original red brick. With the thousands of lights strung between trees in the courtyard outside, it was a pretty spot for a wedding.
The woman from the distillery chatted with Sarah, giving him an unobstructed view of her ass in that fitted black dress. He wondered what it would feel like beneath his hands.
At the stirring of his cock, he glanced away.
It had been a while since he’d blown off steam with a night of sex. It wasn’t that the drive wasn’t there, because he jerked himself off so regularly it might as well be classed as part of his daily self-care. And it wasn’t a case of there not being opportunity. Puck bunnies were a dime a dozen. And he was comfortable enough in his own skin to admit he was a good-looking guy. Women fell for his tall muscular frame and Swedish looks all the time. Mostly, it was his blond hair. It was so thick—he had a severe undercut and could still tie it back. He bit back a smirk thinking about the number of women who’d called him a Viking in bed because of it.
It was his desire to focus on his playing, and a litany of other factors he didn’t have the time or inclination to address, that stopped him from finding someone for a night of fun. Three years earlier, he’d found Ines fucking his old junior team’s physiotherapist on a pile of packing boxes on his living room floor before they were meant to leave for Arizona. She’d pleaded for another chance. She’d claimed that it was one last goodbye before she and Anders started their new life in Arizona.
He’d moved alone.
The last he’d heard, she’d hooked up with a player who might go in the fourth round of the next year’s draft.
Poor sucker.
Anders wasn’t going to be anyone’s paycheck. No, his focus needed to be on his career that balanced on a knife-edge. He’d waited three fucking years to get out of his contract with the Canyon. He needed to play his best, perform at his fittest and strongest, and maintain a clear and focused head. Mind games he did not need. In his experience, women required maintenance. Dinners when all he wanted to do was crash and watch replays. Conversations about tickets for their friends when he was working out.
But given he didn’t live here, perhaps a one-night stand with the woman was a possibility if she was game. There’d be no awkward “What’s next?” conversations. What’s next would be him getting on a plane back to Phoenix.
A young server approached the woman, tugging his hair in frustration. They exchanged a few words and then hurried together in the direction of the kitchen. Interesting. Given he could smell food, he assumed it was a problem with the midnight snacks Karl had promised.
Before he ate, he needed some air. Quietly, he slipped into the darkness that hovered around the edges of the room. He needed time away from crappy wedding pop songs and disco lights and talkative relatives. When he reached the exit, he stepped outside and sighed. The music died away as the door closed behind him.
His breath hovered in the air as he pulled the collar of his suit jacket up around his neck. The air was completely still, the sky the color of dark blue ink. A smattering of snow that had fallen during the service twinkled under a million tiny lights. He closed his eyes and let the chill seep through his bones.
Peace.
The quiet filled him up more than anything in the distillery could.
It was perfect, right up until the wail of sirens filled the parking lot.
Olivia Dyer glanced at the clock as she hurried to the kitchen at the back of the Dyer’s Gin Distillery tasting rooms and pushed both swing doors wide open. Fifteen minutes to eleven on Christmas Eve, and the last thing she needed was a catastrophe. But it appeared that with less than two hours left on the clock before the party ended, she had one.
The night had been going seamlessly, effortlessly even. The bride and groom were happy. And the distillery’s tasting rooms had never looked so darn beautiful. The main tasting room was filled with white flowers and greenery in shades of sage that complemented the glass and natural brickwork. A wedding for a famous and wealthy hockey player had the budget that paid for enough tiny lights to make it look as though the night sky had exploded inside the tasting room’s vaulted ceiling.
Only moments before, she’d been mentally patting herself on the back for a job well done. It was her first major wedding event back since her breakdown, and Olivia had been relieved she’d be able to report back to her older sister and brother just how well the evening had gone.
Yet as she stepped into the kitchen, she realized she’d celebrated too soon.
“Oh, shit,” she gasped. “Doria, what happened?”
Doria, the head of the catering team, was lying on the floor by the fridge. Next to her was Anne, her daughter, freshly home from college for the holidays, with her hand in the air. It was wrapped in one of the distillery’s kitchen towels, splotches of red blood seeping through the distillery logo. She didn’t want to know what was sitting in the small food bag peeking out between two bags of ice.
“Anne, what happened? Has someone called an ambulance?”
Sam, one of the servers, stepped forward. “I did, they are on their way.”
“I’m sorry,” Doria said. “When Anne . . . cut her . . . you know. I fainted and fell. I can’t get up. My lower back just spasmed.”
“Anne, how are you doing?” She needn’t have asked. One look at Anne’s gray features told her everything she needed to know.
“Spacey,” Anne replied.
“Okay, lie down. Sam, go to the tasting room and find a couple of seat cushions not in use. Grab some waters from the bar on your way through.”