Am I retiring?
Some days I’m hopeful that my knee is almost 100% recovered because I might be able to play again. Others, it gives me anxiety just thinking that I’ll never play again.
Overall, I can’t foresee my future.
If I could, maybe I would have foreseen the call from Jean-Paul, my former agent, asking how I’m doing.
He wasn’t wondering about my well-being but about my knee and the future of my career. He was wondering if I’m going to be able to play again.
I don’t have an answer for him. It’s not that I can’t skate. Hayes, my older brother and one of the best orthopedic surgeons in the world, has been treating my knee. He brought the best physical therapists he knows. Hayes says it’s good as new. We even went to Portland to try the ice rink, and I could skate without having any pain.
However, he warned me, “If you get injured again, you’ll need surgery, and I won’t clear you to play—ever again.”
Do I want to go back and risk another injury?
That’s debatable.
My house arrest—or what the lawyer likes to call the will stipulation—lasts until the end of November. That gives me plenty of time to think about the future and what I might want to do next year.
Am I ready to pack my things and leave?
It depends on the day. There are times when all I want is to fasten Arden in his car seat and drive away. Other times I'm so comfortable with my family that I consider the possibility of staying.
It helps that the house is flooded with dopamine. You know, that chemical substance that makes you behave like a complete fool because you’re in love?
Four of my brothers are thoroughly whipped by their women. I never thought I’d say this, but those assholes make me feel lonely. As if there’s a part of me that’s been missing, one I didn’t care about before. Now I have this internal—irrational— urge to find it, even if I don’t need to be in a relationship.
Maybe it’s because I haven’t had sex since I found out about Arden. Seriously, I’ve been celibate for about three years. That’s the only way to explain the weird attraction to Hadley, since all she did was sit by me on a bench last night. I must be fucking horny.
So while my mind and my life are packed with a gazillion issues, my agent only cares about one thing: am I going to play next season?
When I told him that I couldn’t make any decisions until November, he politely excused himself and ended the conversation.
Thank you, useless friend.
I know he’s not a friend. The guy sees me as a dollar sign. He doesn’t care if my son is having trouble falling asleep. Or that my best friend, who is my youngest brother, is in the hospital fighting for his life.
Today would’ve been a great day to drive to Portland and spend the day with Arden. Instead, I spent all morning at The Lodge dealing with a long line of tourists who, aside from needing to check in, also asked for my autograph and a picture.
Listen, I love my fans, but it’s hard to do the public figure gig while working. I can’t just say, “I’m sorry, but I have to work.” I should start messing up at the front desk just the way Beacon did. Maybe Henry will send me to the kitchen immediately.
It’s around ten when Arden finally falls asleep. I’m mentally tired, but my body is restless. I change into a pair of sweats. As I make my way to the door, I hand the baby monitor to Sophia and Henry, who are in the living room.
“Where are you going this late?” Henry asks.
“I need to go for a run,” I mumble.
“To the gym?”
“No, around town. Is that okay, Dad?”
“I won’t apologize for being cautious. Should I remind you that only a month ago, the studio exploded, Beacon almost died, and several men were trying to kill us?” His voice comes out forcefully.
Under different circumstances, I’d tell him to fuck off, but I try to remember that he’s dealing with what happened just a month ago, just like the rest of us.
“I’ll be fine,” I assure him. “I just need some fresh air.”
If the ice rink was ready, I’d be burning some energy there. I can’t wait until Easton’s crew finishes it.
I run around town and stop right by the park to find the same woman from last night, sitting on the bench. My mind says it’s time to head back home. My legs carry me all the way to where she is. There’s something about her that feels familiar and comfortable.
Last night when I watched her with Arden, she scared me shitless.
She’s practically a foot shorter than me, but her voice, her smile, and those big brown eyes are larger than life.
Is she pretty?
She’s cute—lovely.
The woman has that girl next door vibe, like early 90’s Jennifer Aniston, just starting on Friends, except Hadley’s hair is wavy, and her body is curvier. Okay, I might’ve looked more closely than I want to admit.
One thing I know is that I don’t need someone like her in my life.
So why am I here, standing in front of her, wondering where she came from and what she’s doing in the park this time of night?
Those are too many questions from a guy who doesn’t give a fuck. I shouldn’t care that her face doesn’t have the brightness that it had last night, or that her lips quiver as she focuses on the screen of her phone.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, stopping a few feet away from her.
She shakes her head, waving her phone. “If there’s a lesson we should all learn from the mess I made, it should be, think before you post.”
“Posting what?”
“On social media,” she responds, still not looking at me.
Well, no one should be posting online. Mom says social media is the devil. It sounds like an exaggeration, but sometimes it’s so true. “Wise words. I’m guessing you’re talking from experience?”
She sighs and nods.
“Isn’t it a little late to be out here in the park?”
She looks up at me. Her big expressive eyes carry a hint of worry. Maybe it’s sadness. “It’s better than laying on my childhood bed while I think about my parents’ life. Mom might lose her shop. Dad’s in the hospital. The insurance doesn’t cover the specialists that he needs to recover. I can’t find a job, and my ex just threatened to sue me because…” she pauses. “Because he’s a cheating asshole.”
My life doesn’t sound so shitty compared to her current situation, and yet, I remember the way her lips turn upward and how her face brightens. As if she’s competing with the moon’s light. Her presence is brighter than the satellite. She makes her own sunshine. I hate that there’s something dimming her light.
“There’s a lot happening in your life.”
She shrugs one shoulder. “It’s life. How about you? Is Arden okay?”
I nod a couple of times.
A mischievous grin appears in her pouty lips. I’m curious to taste her heart-shaped lips. “I’m guessing you’re Mills,” she states.
“What gave it away?”
“I could lie and say it’s a lucky guess. Add something crazy like you look like a hockey player—which you do. However, it’s my job to know who you are. I just didn’t recognize you last night,” she answers, and before I can ask what that means, she explains herself. “I used to be the Social Media Director for the Troopers. I know you were the assistant captain and star defenseman of the Vancouver Orcas.”