Chapter 42 Grant
Grant
The security company arrives early the next morning, but I’m already up and waiting when they pull into the driveway.
I spent most of the night doing research on the best home security systems money can buy. I’ve already spoken to three different companies, compared their offerings, read reviews, and settled on the one with the most comprehensive protection plan.
“Mr. Parker?” The lead technician extends his hand. “I’m Mike. We spoke on the phone last night.”
“Thanks for coming out so quickly.” I shake his hand and gesture toward the house. “I need this place locked down, with cameras on every entrance, motion sensors, and anything else you can give me. I want the works.”
“We can do that. Let me show you what we’re thinking.”
For the next hour, we walk the perimeter of the property while Mike outlines their plan. Cameras at every door and window. Motion-activated floodlights. A state-of-the-art alarm system that connects directly to a monitoring service, and smart locks that can be controlled from my phone.
“We can have everything installed by the end of the day,” Mike says. “And I’ll personally train you on the system before we leave.”
“Perfect.”
Heather appears on the porch, wrapped in one of my hoodies. Her hair is still messy from sleep, and she looks a little concerned.
“Grant? What’s going on?”
“Security upgrades.” I walk over to her and pull her close. “I want to make sure the house and grounds are as safe as possible.”
“All of this?” She looks at the van full of equipment. “I appreciate it, but this is probably overkill. Not to mention the expense.”
“It’s not overkill, and I don’t care how much it costs if it means I can help keep you safe. As far as I’m concerned, every piece of equipment in that van is one hundred percent necessary.” I keep my voice gentle but firm. “Steven knows where we are, and I’m not taking any chances.”
She opens her mouth like she wants to argue, then closes it again. I can see the war playing out on her face. She’s used to dealing with all of this alone, and she has a stubborn streak that’s about half a mile wide.
Thankfully, she doesn’t fight me on this decision.
“Okay,” she says instead. “Thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me. This is what it means to work together.” I lean in for a quick kiss. “I’ve got you, Hurricane. Both of you.”
The installation takes most of the day. While the technicians work, I stay on the phone making other arrangements.
My first call is to a private security firm that specializes in personal protection.
“I need someone to escort Ms. Lucas to and from work,” I tell the woman on the other end. “Not a driver, but someone who can follow at a distance and ensure her safety to and from the parking lot. And I need someone watching her daughter’s school. Discreetly, of course.”
“We can have people in place by tomorrow morning.”
“Good. I want regular reports, and I obviously want to know if anyone suspicious comes near either of them.”
My second call is to a lawyer who specializes in family law and restraining orders. The lawyer asks a series of questions, and I relay everything Heather told me about the incident. By the end of the call, he assures me he can have the paperwork for a restraining order filed by the end of the week.
The third call is to the Aces’ head of security.
“I need a favor,” I start, and then explain the situation.
Within an hour, he’s sent over additional information about Steven that includes previous addresses, employment history, and known associates.
It’s more than I expected, and I’m more than happy to forward all of it to the lawyer and the security firm.
By evening, the house looks like a fortress. There are cameras everywhere, new locks on every door, and a control panel that lets us monitor everything from our phones.
“This is wild,” April says, watching as Mike shows us how to arm and disarm the system. “It’s like we live in a spy movie!”
I know I’m being overprotective. I know Heather thinks this is all too much. But I don’t care.
The thought of Steven getting anywhere near them makes my blood fucking boil. The memory of that bruise on Heather’s arm and the fear in her eyes when she was packing to leave—I can’t get it out of my head.
So I do what I do best. I prepare, I plan, and I control every variable I can.
I get updates throughout the day, with text messages confirming arrivals, departures, and status reports. Each one is a small relief, but practice that afternoon is torture.
I’m distracted, checking my phone between drills. Scanning my texts. Waiting for any sign of trouble.
“Parker!” Dunaway yells after I let in an easy goal. “Where the hell is your head?”
“Sorry, Coach.”
“Sorry doesn’t win games.” He skates over. “You’ve been off all week. What’s going on?”
“Personal stuff. I’m handling it.”
“Handle it faster. We’ve got a game in two days, and I need you sharp.”
I nod, forcing myself to focus. But it’s so fucking hard.
Every time I’m away from Heather and April, part of my brain is with them, wondering if they’re safe and hoping the security is enough.
Two days later, I have one of the worst practices of my career.
I’m off on every save. My positioning is sloppy. My reaction time is too slow. Dunaway pulls me aside twice, and both times I insist I’m fine.
Everyone on the ice with me can tell that’s a lie.
By the end of practice, Dunaway has had enough.
“Parker, you’re done. Hit the showers.”
I don’t argue, because there’s nothing I can say in my defense. I just head for the locker room and avoid making eye contact with anyone along the way.
I strip off my gear piece by piece like I’ve done a million times before, but my brain is already thinking ahead to the drive home. Seeing Heather will set my mind at ease, at least.
The guys trickle in over the next twenty minutes, and I’m grateful that most of them keep their distance while I shower and change.
The locker room gradually empties, and I’m just pulling on my shirt when I hear footsteps approaching.
“Do you have a minute?” Noah asks.
He’s standing a few feet away when I look up. The locker room is empty now except for the two of us.
“Sure.”
He takes a seat on the bench across from me. “Margo has been talking to Heather. She’s worried—not just for Heather, but the whole situation. It sounds like things are a little crazy over there.”
My back stiffens, and I don’t know why I’m suddenly feeling defensive. I know Margo and Noah only want what’s best for Heather and April, just like I know they’re both in my corner too. Whatever Noah is getting at, I have no doubt that it’s coming from a good place with good intentions.
“Heather is doing okay,” I say. “She’s strong. Stronger than anyone gives her credit for.”
“That kind of strength seems to run in the family.” Noah leans forward. “And I’m glad she’s doing okay, but how are you holding up?”
I exhale a long breath, wishing there was some quick, easy way out of this conversation. There isn’t, so I just have to get through it.
“I know I did a bad job at practice today,” I start, because that much is undeniable. “Worst I’ve had in… I don’t know. Years, probably. Maybe ever.”
Noah doesn’t try to argue that point.
“And that’s not me. That’s not who I am. I’m the guy who shows up ready, who never lets anything interfere with the game. I’m supposed to be focused and locked in, twenty-four-seven.”
“You’ve always been like a machine out there,” Noah says, nodding. “And I mean that in the best way possible.”
“Yeah, well.” I let out a bitter laugh. “It turns out I was a machine on the ice because I felt like a machine on the inside. I’d turned off my emotions. I didn’t allow any outside distractions, and I didn’t have anyone to worry about except myself.”
“And now?”
“And now I feel like I’m completely out of my depth.
I don’t know how to handle this.” I gesture vaguely, trying to encompass everything I’m feeling.
“This constant pull on my heart, my attention, and my thoughts at the same time is driving me crazy. I’m supposed to be thinking about positioning and angles and save percentages, but instead I’m thinking about Heather.
About whether she’s okay. Whether April is safe, and whether I’ve done enough to protect them. ”
Noah nods slowly, but doesn’t interrupt.
“I used to be able to compartmentalize everything. Hockey was hockey. Life was life. I kept them separate, but I can’t do that anymore. I can’t just turn off the part of me that cares about Heather and April when I step on the ice.”
“Would you want to?”
The question catches me off guard. “What?”
“If you could flip a switch and go back to being that machine—the guy who didn’t have anyone to worry about, who only thought about hockey—would you?”
I open my mouth to answer, then close it again.
Would I?
Would I trade what I have with Heather and April to get back that single-minded focus? To not feel this constant ache in my chest when I’m away from them? To stop checking my phone every five minutes and actually sleep through the night without waking up in a panic?
“No,” I say finally. “I wouldn’t. Not for anything.”
“Even if it means your game suffers?”
“Even then.” I meet his eyes. “Hell, Noah, if it comes down to it—if I have to choose between hockey and being able to take care of Heather properly—I’ll walk away from the game. The career. All of it.”
Noah looks genuinely surprised. “Really?”
“For Heather? Of course.”
Noah is quiet for a long moment. Then he claps me on the shoulder with a grin.
“You know what, Grant? This is a good thing.”
I look at him like he’s lost his mind. “How is any of this a good thing? I’m falling apart. I can barely focus. I’m letting the team down—”
“You’re not falling apart. You’re becoming human. And having something that matters more than hockey isn’t a weakness. It just means you have a full life. A real life off the ice and outside of the game.”
I want to believe him, but the doubt is still there, gnawing at me.
“Look,” he continues, “you need to learn how to channel this. Use your feelings for Heather and April to motivate you on the ice. Play for them. Protect the net for them. Let them be your reason to be great, not your reason to fall apart.”
“And when I’m with them?”
“When you’re with them, leave hockey on the ice.
” He makes it sound so simple. “Learn to separate the two again, but in a different way. Not by being a machine, but by being present. When you’re at the rink, you’re a goalie.
When you’re home, you’re Heather’s partner and April’s—whatever you are to April. ”
“We’re still working on figuring that part out.”
“You’ll get there.” Noah stands and picks up his gear bag. “But the most important thing is to remember why you’re doing this. You’re not just playing hockey anymore. You’re building a life, and that life includes the game, but it’s not only the game. Not anymore.”
I nod slowly as I take it all in. Everything he’s saying makes perfect sense, but I have a feeling it’s also easier said than done. That’s okay, though. Nothing good in life comes without a challenge.
“Use them as your motivation,” he says again. “Not your distraction. Every save you make, every game you win—it’s for them. It’s to give them the life they deserve and the security they need. But you can’t do that if you’re burning yourself out worrying every second you’re not with them.”
“So what do I do?”
“You trust the security you’ve put in place.
You trust Heather to call you if something goes wrong, and you trust yourself to be there when they need you.
” He heads toward the door, then pauses.
“And you remember that the best way to take care of them is to take care of yourself first. That includes not having a breakdown in the middle of the season.”
After he leaves, I sit alone with his words echoing in my head.
Play for them. Let them motivate me instead of distracting me. Leave hockey on the ice when I’m home. Be present.
If Noah can do it—if he can balance loving Margo and playing at the top of his game—then maybe I can too.
I have to try. Because he’s right about one thing.
The best way to take care of Heather and April is to be the best version of myself, and that means not falling apart.