The Final Draft (The Decker Connection #4)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER

ONE

HARPER

I never expected to see my life packed into a storage unit, but there it is. The container sits in the driveway filled with all my things. My memories. My belongings. My identity. My twenty-six years packed into totes and boxes.

It’s been a week of ups and downs as I purged, sorted, tossed, and packed. I gave everything the Marie Kondo touch. Does it bring me joy? I kept it. No joy. Out it went. Now I stare at a bunch of totes that should be filled with joy, but in reality, is a hodgepodge of stuff that I don’t know if I love anymore. I don’t know much of anything right now.

I wipe the sweat from my brow as I look at it all stacked in this container that will ship to Raleigh tomorrow. Sweat trickles down my back, and I need another shower. Why is it so hot? Even after ten years of living in Atlanta, you’d think I would get used to the heat and humidity. Spoiler alert: I haven’t. And moving in the middle of a sweltering summer heatwave was not on my bingo card this year, but yet, here I am.

Lawson adds a box labeled “stuff” to the container, and I shake my head, not really in disbelief, because I’m not surprised. Rather, it’s acceptance of his lack of organizational skills. I wonder what he calls stuff. It could be anything from pictures to books to underwear. It’s not hockey-related because that “stuff” is packed into his luxury Jeep Grand Cherokee. When it comes to hockey, he’s got it. The other details aren’t exactly his specialty. Besides, we both know he won’t be the one unpacking these boxes when the time comes.

“That’s the last of it,” he says. He pulls the sliding door down and latches it. The sound startles me and punctuates the reality of this moment. He lays his arm across my shoulders as we stand side by side, looking at the closed container.

“Yep.”

“I’m sorry, Harps. I know you don’t want to leave.” He pulls me in a little tighter, his brotherly love surrounding me. “I meant it when I said you can stay.” He sighs, his regret filling the moment. “I hate that you’re doing this because of me. It breaks my heart to see you look so sad.”

I am sad, but not for the reasons he thinks. This house became my home after a drunk driver tragically killed my parents in Minnesota when I was a sophomore in high school. At twenty-two years old, Lawson’s life took an extraordinary turn as he made his NHL debut and assumed the role of legal guardian for his sixteen-year-old orphan sister within months of each other. It was a hell of a year for both of us.

When I came to live with him, he bought this house in the suburbs and did his best to give me an excellent high school experience while balancing his new hockey career. He became a surrogate parent overnight. It was unconventional and not what either of us wanted, but we made it work. We had to. Lawson made Atlanta my home. And now, it’s not. While I’m anxious about this next step for me, I’m sad for him. And angry. After ten years of playing hockey for Atlanta, six as captain, multiple playoff seasons, and one Stanley Cup, they traded him to the Carolina Renegades. Gone are the days of loyalty and franchise players, I guess. With one phone call and a stroke of a pen, he lost another family: his team. Just like that. No warning. No idea it was coming. To say it shocked him is an understatement.

We were wrapping up a lazy summer and driving back from a beach trip in Charleston when he got a call from his agent notifying him of the change. No call from the team owner, his coach, nothing. It was like the call he got the night our parents died. Out of the blue, totally unexpected, and so unbelievable, the news had to be repeated several times for it to sink in.

He considered retiring, but I wouldn’t hear of it. He loves hockey, and I won’t let him quit because of me. I’ve impacted his life too much as it is. He’s a damn-talented hockey player and can lead a team to Lord Stanley again. There's no question about it.

It’s time for me to stand on my own two feet. I put on my strong facade for Lawson and reach up to take his hand draped over my shoulder.

“I’m not sad. We’re going to be fine. We’re Cartwrights.”

He bends down and kisses the top of my head.

“Damn right we are.”

We walk back into a shell of a house. Everything that made it a home is gone. We packed all our personal belongings but left the furniture for now. It feels sterile. Empty. We left the big stuff because it will look better furnished when we choose to sell. Besides, neither of us is going into our own place for now, and well, we aren’t ready to say goodbye to this house yet. Moving out in stages is a slow goodbye, a kind of goodbye we aren’t familiar with. I’m realizing I hate goodbyes all-together.

Lawson’s phone vibrates on the counter, and he answers it on speaker. “Hey man, you calling to tell me you’ve changed your mind about having a roommate?” Lawson chuckles, but the full-on laugh coming through the speaker is all Chance Fuller.

“No way. Just wanted you to know I decorated your room in Golden Bears colors, in case you needed to coordinate your stuffie. You can make room for your shit around all my old trophies.” They both laugh.

Chance and Lawson were high school rivals back in the day. We grew up in small towns that revolved around hockey. Texas might have Friday night football, but Minnesota lives for hockey. The mention of Minnesota is another reminder of everything we’ve been through.

Chance is the captain of the Carolina Renegades, Lawson’s new team. Getting traded so close to camp didn’t give Lawson much time to find a place to live and get everything in order. Especially when I’m part of everything.

Chance was the first person to call after the news broke. He welcomed Lawson to the team and into his home. They’re going to be roomies for the foreseeable future. They played together their rookie year in the AHL and became good friends despite their previous rivalry.

“I hope Darcy doesn’t hear about that room,” I say. “She’ll be up there so fast you won’t know what to do.” Darcy is a mutual friend and an amazing interior designer. She designed Chance’s beach house and did work at our house too. I look around and another wave of sadness hits me because most of her touches are erased, packed in a metal container in the driveway.

“Maybe I’ll bring her with me,” Lawson teases.

“Like Matt would let her around you again,” Chance says. “He changes the channel every time your damn Jeep commercial comes on.” His laughter fills the room.

“Hey, I was nothing but hospitable to a friend of yours in need. Is this what I should expect this year - you busting my balls?”

“Sounds about right,” Chance adds. “Hey, Harper, you set for your big move?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” I try to add excitement to my voice, but I fail, and it falls flat. Lawson looks at me warily. Tomorrow Lawson and I are going our separate ways.

I’m moving to New York to pursue my writing career. As fate would have it, on the very day Lawson was traded, I received the incredible news of my acceptance into a prestigious writing program at NYU. It was like fate wanted to split us up with a one-two punch.

When news of Lawson’s trade hit, all his current and former teammates reached out. It’s a testament to the kind of leader and friend Lawson is. Hockey is a tight community, especially for guys like Lawson and Chance who have both phenomenal talent and character. Because they respect him, I’ve always been in their circle of protection. My own band of brothers, as it were.

As soon as Lawson mentioned my move to New York, Zac Burns insisted I stay with him. He’s Lawson’s former teammate and current goalie for the New York Havoc. Apparently, his ex-girlfriend and previous dog sitter recently moved to Brooklyn after an ugly break-up. Now he needs a new dog sitter, especially with the season starting soon.

Zac laid on the sweet talk of how much I’d be helping him out, insisting I’d be less drama than his ex and the deal was done. When I asked if his last dog sitter was just a roommate like me, he laughed and assured me he’s better off with our arrangement. I don't know the entire story, but there's definitely more to it. In exchange for dog-sitting, I’ll be living in a luxury New York apartment building with a doorman.

“You know Burnsy is a good guy,” Lawson says. “And he’ll barely be there. But if he steps out of line, you let us know. Chance and I will take care of him.”

“You know he won’t.” I roll my eyes. There isn’t a guy in the NHL who would step out of line with Lawson’s little sister. A small smile breaks through when I think about my new roommates. “I can’t wait to play with Noodle.”

A choking sound fills the room as Chance tries to catch his breath. “You’re going to play with his noodle? What the fuck, Lawsy? Where are you sending her?”

Lawson and I can’t contain our laughter. “Noodle is his miniature dachshund, you idiot. You know me better than that.” Lawson sighs. “Listen, I’m headed to Raleigh in the morning after I drop Harper at the airport. Should be in around five, just in time for a cold one. Be ready to fire up the grill for our steaks.”

“Absolutely. I’ll have a welcome committee waiting for you. I invited a few of the guys that are around to meet the great Lawson Cartwright,” Chance says with a twinge of humor in his voice.

Hearing this banter, I’m comforted knowing Lawson will be fine with his new team. It softens my anger on his behalf a little. Maybe this move is a blessing in disguise for him. But for me? Time will tell.

The rest of the move’s logistics fell into place quickly after that first call. Our personal belongings are going into storage in Raleigh until Lawson gets a place of his own. I sold my car since I won’t need it in New York, and Lawson insisted I keep the money for “pocket change.”

I hope to make my own money someday from my first book. Or I’ll get a job as a barista. Or a pet sitter. Either way, I can’t live off Lawson forever. Sure, he makes millions, but those millions are precisely what got him traded. Apparently, Atlanta couldn’t afford him anymore and needed money off their salary cap. Lawson doesn’t have many playing years left, so I want him to save for his future.

I hope that this rigorous NYU course will hone my skills to become a published author, opening the door to my dream career. Then I’ll be self-sufficient.

I’ve been writing since my therapist encouraged me to start a journal after my parents died. It became therapeutic for me, an escape from the tragedy in my life. I’d make up stories and use them to deal with my feelings, making sure my characters ended up okay.

The stories were full of fantasy, hope, and happily ever afters. Or at least happy for now. I’d had enough stories with tragic endings, like people dying in car accidents. Writing was my escape from a harsh reality, a place where stories always had happy endings.

Over time, my writing evolved into romance stories, something my life severely lacks. Maybe I should classify myself as a fantasy author at this point because romance and I are exactly that. A fantasy.

New city, new degree, big dreams… this change might be the perfect jumpstart for my career and a whole new life. And maybe New York will be where I find romance? After all, it is called the City of Dreams.