Chapter 5
Chapter Five
AJ
“ I ’m so glad you ended up coming,” I tell Colt’s fiancée, Jules, as we stand outside the locker room after the Game 4 win. We officially won our division and are moving on to the conference finals.
She laughs lightly. “You’re just saying that because he had a stellar game.”
“Not gonna lie, I’m convinced he plays better when you’re here.”
With a teasing roll of her eyes, she brushes her long blonde hair over her shoulder. “I mean, I’m not saying I’m his good luck charm...” She gives me a little wink.
Jules is a complete boss, and having known her since before she and Colt were “dating,” I can confidently say she’s the last person I’d ever have expected to give someone with his reputation a chance. But a strange twist of fate has them engaged—something only her family and I know is fake—and now...it’s starting to feel very real. Especially since she flew down here for this game to surprise him, is wearing a tank top with his name sewn over a heart across her chest, and will be coming home on our team plane.
“I know you’re joking, but I’m not.” I lock eyes with her so she’ll know I’m 100% serious. “You may need to travel with us for the rest of the season.”
Her laugh is tight. “AJ, I have a job and a life, and I’m not dropping it for a man. Not even for Colt.”
“But you know how superstitious hockey players are, right?”
“Were you a hockey player?” she asks. “Because you really seem like you’re buying into the idea of these superstitions.”
“Yeah, I’ve played my whole life.”
Her eyes widen. “Do you still play?”
“No, there’s not really time. But I’m on the ice whenever I can be.” I don’t know why I admit this to her...it just kind of slips out. I’m normally incredibly secretive about this, using our practice rink early every morning, before anyone else is there. The only one who knows I still skate is Gerard, the morning janitor, because he’s the only other person who’s there that early. I’m sure if there was ever a reason to review the security footage, my secret would be out. But I’ve managed to keep it under wraps for years.
“That’s amazing. I’ve never been very good at skating, I always left that to Jameson and Colt.”
“Speaking of, if Colt gets it in his head that you’re his good luck charm?—”
“Please, don’t put that idea in his head. Seriously. We have a waitlist a mile long at Our House, and I’m already behind because I went up to Montreal with him a couple weeks ago.”
“Yeah, about that...Remember earlier in the season when I was telling you I had just moved into a new place, but I wanted to live with it a bit before doing renovations...?” I trail off, hoping she’ll jump in and offer to help, but she just told me how behind she is, so I’m not surprised that all she does is nod. “I wasn’t kidding about wanting you and Audrey to work on that renovation. I love the idea of supporting a female-owned and operated business, and I really want it to be you two.”
“How do you even know that you’d like our work?” Jules asks, her big blue eyes flicking toward the locker room like she can’t wait to see Colt. And if the way he was looking at her during warmups, when she surprised him at the glass, is any indication, I’m sure he can’t wait to see her too. He’ll be the first one out of the locker room, no doubt, even though goalies normally take forever.
“Because I sort of stalk your social media. It’s so well-done. Like it’s curated enough that I have a sense of your design, but I also love that you guys post a bit of personal stuff there as well.”
“That was all Morgan,” Jules says.
“Lauren’s cousin?”
“Yeah. She’s really good at it, and neither Audrey nor I want to be responsible for it.”
Morgan’s in her mid-twenties and came to Boston with Lauren when she moved here a year and a half ago. Since then, she’s become close to Audrey and Jules, but I had no idea she did that type of work. “I thought she was Petra Ivanova’s personal assistant?”
“She is,” Jules explains, “but Petra’s closing her event planning business now that the TV show has really taken off, and since the studio already has a personal assistant for her, there’s not as much for Morgan to do these days. She basically runs Petra’s online presence, and she’s started her own social media consulting business on the side.”
Petra Ivanova is one of Lauren’s best friends, so I’ve gotten to know her a bit over this past year. She’s a powerhouse of a woman and the face of the award-winning talk show And Yet We Rise . Every week, she interviews a woman who overcame great obstacles to redefine success in her field. The show is both inspirational and aspirational—exactly the type of show I wish had existed when I was younger. It doesn’t surprise me at all that it’s taken off the way that it has, but it sounds unfortunate for Morgan.
“I had no idea. I should see if she can do some consulting for us. Our social media manager, Tatum, is sweet, but she’s not doing anything as innovative or trendy as I see some of the other teams doing.”
“Yeah,” Jules says, but her head is turning away from me and her whole face lights up because Colt is walking down the hall toward us. “You should talk to her.” And then she’s off, barreling down the hall toward him before she jumps into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist and nuzzling her face into his neck.
I turn away, not to give them privacy so much as to prevent myself from being sick at how in love they seem. I remember the early days with my ex, the way it felt when he walked into a room, his gaze landing on me. You could have lit the Eiffel Tower with how I radiated from his attention. And look where it got me...cheated on and divorced.
Not that I think Colt, or really anyone else who isn’t a narcissistic asshole, would have reacted the way Chet did in our situation. But still, seeing two people so in love, especially in the early days, still hurts.
I just want to get on that plane and sleep while we fly home. I’m always exhausted by the end of the season, but this year it feels particularly intense. I’m not sure if it’s because early yesterday morning I caught a flight home for Lauren’s bridal shower, and convinced Jules to come down for Game 4, before flying back last night. Or if maybe I need to see my endocrinologist about adjusting my medications?
I’m about to pull out my phone to shoot her a message when Charlie walks up. I congratulate him on a good game, and we chat a bit about what the next week should look like now that we don’t have to play Games 5, 6, or 7. Round 3 of the playoffs won’t start until the following week, and it feels like a gift for all of us to have a whole week without games or travel.
“The guys will be well-rested compared to either Philly or New Jersey,” Charlie says, and I nod in agreement. Their fourth game finished up in Philadelphia only minutes ago, and the teams are tied 2-2 in the series, so they’ll be playing at least two more games next week, if not three. Whoever wins, we’ll take on in Round 3 and hopefully our week off will give us an advantage.
“I know you’ll want to practice,” I tell him, “but make sure not to overdo it. They need to conserve their energy.”
“Exactly what I was thinking,” Charlie says as we walk out into the humid evening air and across the parking lot to the bus.
I glance behind me, looking for Jules, because I’d offered her the seat next to me on the plane home. But she’s tucked under Colt’s arm, and I have a feeling he’s not going to let her go. Turning back toward the door of the bus, I laugh to myself about how Drew, who normally sits next to Colt, is going to lose his seat. But then the laughter dries up when I realize that might mean Drew ends up next to me on this flight, as I’m the only one who normally has a free seat beside me.
Whatever, we’ll all be sleeping anyway.
“ I ’m sorry, but what the actual hell do you think you’re doing?” I say to McCabe as I glance up at where he stands next to me, eyeing the seat next to mine.
“Drew lost his seat to Jules, so I gave him mine,” McCabe says before using one of his long legs to step right over me and toward the window seat when I don’t move out of his way.
“Why would you do that?” I hiss, trying to keep my voice low, so I don’t attract Charlie’s attention. He’s deep in conversation with our assistant coach, Larry, and I’d love not to cause a scene. “You better not be trying to talk to me about your contract.” Players aren’t allowed to negotiate directly with management, and I don’t want it to look like anything unethical is going on here.
“Relax, AJ. I’m just planning to sleep, and this is a nicer seat than what we have.” He’s right; the seats up in this section are first-class, whereas the rest of the plane is retrofitted with business class seats. Ours fully recline, which is the only reason I can normally sleep on these flights.
“Fine,” I grumble, pulling my Kindle out of the seat pocket in front of me.
“But I did have a question for you.”
“No. No questions, McCabe—not here. If you want to talk about your contract, or this team, or anything else, drop by my office with your agent.” He knows better. He knows the only conversation I can have about his contract is with his agent, and we’ve already agreed to wait until the season is over. Too damn bad for him if he’s having second thoughts now that we’re headed into the third round of the playoffs. If he hadn’t wanted to wait, he should have negotiated instead of throwing out such ridiculous demands.
“Oh, so we’re at the not being able to talk without a mediator stage?” His gruff voice has a hard, sarcastic edge like it always does now.
“No, we’re at the I’m exhausted and want to go to sleep, and not talk to you stage.”
“Fine,” he says. “Answer one question for me, and then I’ll leave you alone.”
I roll my eyes as I glance up at him, and I’m surprised at how bright green his eyes are up close, even in the dim light. The practically permanent scowl he wears usually has his eyebrows dipping low, and his green eyes aren’t really able to shine like they used to when he was a fresh, young player who I brought up to the NHL from our AHL affiliate.
Did I do that to him? Did I dim that spark when I traded him to Boston?
It’s not the first time I’ve wondered this, but I’ve never had the nerve to ask. Man up and stop being such a scaredy cat, I hear my Dad’s voice, even after all these years of trying to get him out of my head.
“Fine.”
The plane starts taxiing toward the runway, and I glance down when I sense McCabe’s fists tighten on the armrests on either side of him. But he’s glanced out the window and I’m relieved he doesn’t see me looking, both because I don’t want to be caught staring at him and also because if he’s scared of flying, I’d be the last person he’d want to admit that to.
He turns back toward me, and his face is a mask. There’s no trace of the fear I sensed a moment ago as he asks, “What were you doing in my building the other afternoon?”
I have literally no idea what he’s talking about. “Your building? Like where you live?”
He nods.
“I have no idea where you live, McCabe.” Why would I know anything more than the fact that he lives in the city? Unlike some of the other players, it’s not like he’s hosted big team events at his place.
“That seems unlikely, since I watched you walk into my lobby five days ago.”
Five days...My eyebrows scrunch as I do the math. Five days ago was right in between Games 1 and 2. We were at the children’s hospital that afternoon, and I left right before it wrapped up because I needed to get home and order takeout before my brother and his girlfriend arrived. They tend to stay at my place when I’m out of town, both because it’s more comfortable than their tiny apartment, and also so they can cat-sit my extremely unfriendly cat, Tabitha.
“The only lobby I was in that afternoon was my own,” I say flippantly, as the plane takes a turn onto the runway and begins increasing speed. What is he on about?
“No, I’m pretty sure you were in my lobby.”
We look at each other, in a stalemate of sorts, because obviously only one of us can be right in this instance. “Okay, so where do you live then?” I ask, confident I can prove him wrong.
“89 Ashburn Street.”
This isn’t happening. I do a long, slow blink as the plane accelerates and I feel the front wheels lift off the ground, but when I open my eyes, we’re still on the plane and he’s still sitting next to me. How is this my life? “Bullshit.”
“I think I know where I live, AJ.”
Turning my head toward him, I open my eyes as I level him with a glare. “That’s where I live.”
“Nooo.” The word is a low growl coming from between his clenched teeth, and our eyes are locked like we’re each trying to convince the other this isn’t possible.
“What unit are you in?” I ask.
“Why? You planning on visiting?”
I huff out a small laugh. “Making sure I can avoid you, is more like it.”
“1705.”
I press my eyes shut tightly. This isn’t possible. If this man lived across the hall from me, surely I’d have seen him sometime in the last couple of months since moving in.
“You?” he asks. His voice is tight, like it always is when he speaks to me. Grumpy is McCabe’s default, but I’ve occasionally seen him relax enough to look like he’s enjoying himself. Just never when he knows I’m around.
“1706.”
I glance down in time to see his fists tighten on the arm rests again, and now that we’re airborne, I know it’s not because of the takeoff.
“Well, this is awkward,” he says as he reclines his seat, closing his eyes and resting his head against his headrest.
I guess this conversation is over?