Chapter 5
NEUTRAL ZONE TURNOVER: FORCING A MISTAKE BETWEEN BLUE LINES
Present Day
The town sign says, “Welcome Home,” but I’m cautiously optimistic about that. After all, I haven’t been here but a few days.
I trusted Mark to scout a place for me. When he showed me the photos of the home in Willow Creek, I offered full price without having set foot on the property—soaring ceilings, wide-plank wood floors, floor to ceiling windows trying to invite the forest inside.
Most importantly, it offered privacy.
“Willow Creek is a nice place. Also, you’ll only be about ninety minutes from OKC,” Mark tells me as I click through the electronic signatures to transfer the property ownership.
I’m grateful for his help. I don’t want to go back to my family in Ireland, despite knowing they’d welcome me with open arms. I just couldn’t fathom being smothered in constant worry by my mother. “I assume it’s close enough for me to check in with the local specialist Moser recommended?”
“Easily. Yet you won’t be fodder for the paparazzi stalking your place.”
“Nice choice.”
“Trust me, I think you’ll find the town alone makes the place worth it.”
“I’m sure I will.”
He pushes, “You might have some work to do, but I’m sure you’ll forgive me once you see the sights in town.”
“You keep going on and on about Willow Creek. It’s a town.”
“There’s great things about it,” he stammers, still not used to the rough side of my tongue.
“What’s so special about it?”
“For you? The view from the local cafe—The Honeyed Hearth.”
I can’t fault Mark for his choice of homes.
I’m not surprised it’s gorgeous. After all, Mark knows me better than anyone else.
He’s a trusted friend who always has my best interest at heart.
When I think back to the dark days around Amy and I ending, all I can recall is Mark by my side.
A true friend, he let me know about the photo circulating so I could prepare myself.
Amy. Thinking about her still makes my heart hurt worse than any hit my head’s taken. She’s a bruise I never let heal. I’ve missed what we had every single day we’ve been apart, even though I was eventually convinced to move on with my life.
Still, it’s hard not to wonder how she’d react to me living in a place like this. In our conversations, we always talked about living in big cities.
The irony isn’t lost on me.
Closing my eyes, I try to ease the memories threatening to break through. When I do, instead of reliving tension, I’m assaulted with visions from my past. Her. Us. Despite trying to bury my regret under a thousand distractions, my one regret pushes to the forefront of my thoughts.
As always, the first image that appears is a visual of Amy pleading with me to listen to her.
Begging me. I wince from both my physical ache as well as the emotional ones I’ve never dealt with properly.
With the hindsight of time, I realize Amy was one hundred percent right for throwing me out of her room, out of her life.
All she asked for was for me to listen. I refused. We’d been together for years. Didn’t that deserve a modicum of respect even if she betrayed me? Maybe there was a reason. Not that I gave her the opportunity to confess to it.
“I gave her no chance because I was certain the scandal would hurt my chances at playing pro.” A bitter laugh escapes my lips. “Turns out I did a damn good job of ruining my own career.”
I’ve wondered far too many times over the last eight years how she’s doing. I’ve mentioned it on more than one occasion to Mark. He’d gone pale each and every time, reminding me I walked away for a reason. “Her behavior was destructive. You did the right thing staying far away from that.”
That still hasn’t stopped me from thinking I should reach out. To touch base and make certain she’s found her happiness. Despite how we ended, I want to know she found peace. I mutter, “One of us deserves it.”
As expected, the sports world went insane when the Kings PR team announced my retirement due to a “permanent injury.” Requests for interviews inundated the Kings. Fans went crazy online. They were unable to believe taking a hit I trained my body to withstand would remove me from the sport I loved.
I ignored everything. What was the point? None of it was going to get me back on the ice.
Now that I’m here, I’ve been settling into my new home in Willow Creek. I hibernated for the first few weeks unpacking, settling into my new normal. I can’t say I’m not comfortable while I’m adapting to the endless future that lay ahead of me.
What am I supposed to do every day?
Slowly, I blink my eyes open and recall Mark’s boasting about The Honeyed Hearth. Sick of my own company, I decide to head to town to give it a try. I pause long enough to send Mark a message before pushing to my feet from the couch.
Me:
Big plans today.
Mark:
Oh?
Me:
I’m going to try that coffee place you keep meandering on about.
Mark:
Let me know what you think about it.
For the first time in months, my tension eases. This is what I needed. No cameras. No questions. No reminders of who I used to be other than those I choose to keep.
This place doesn’t ask anything of me. It doesn’t care if I’m famous or forgotten. Broken or healing. I just exist here. “If I’m lucky, it can teach me to do that too.”
For now, I’m not thinking about what I lost even though there’s a subtle churning in my gut telling me it’s not going to last.
Willow Creek is the very definition of a small town. With less than five thousand residents, there’s one main road which hosts a handful of brick buildings that have withstood the test of time.
I clock a romance bookstore next to a florist. A bank takes up space next to a grocery store. Down a few blocks in one direction is a school complex and in the other, shops and restaurants.
I park, exit my truck, and do my best to blend in with my cap pulled low.
I don’t know what I expected. Maybe for every passerby to greet me with a chipper “Good morning!” Yet, no one stops me at all.
Instead, everywhere I turn, I’m met with people openly staring at me or worse, glaring at me as if they find my presence offensive.
Odd. I thought small towns were supposed to be friendly. Still, I shove it aside. They could be approaching me asking for autographs.
Crossing the street near the hardware store, I see the sign halfway down the block swinging gently in the breeze—The Honeyed Hearth. Something makes me hesitate on the sidewalk longer than I should. I don’t know why, since Mark swears this place is going to be life changing.
Trusting his instinct, I go in.
The inside is warm in a way that isn’t just temperature, but atmospheric.
Wood tables. Soft lighting. A long glass counter displays mouth-watering baked goods that make me realize I need to start working out again sooner rather than later.
A woman behind the counter looks up and offers a smile. “Morning. See anything you like?”
I’m about to ask what their special of the day is when I hear the name that’s been popping into my thoughts more often as of late. “Amy—large honey latte, to go.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I freeze. There’s a woman with dark hair falling down her back who accepts the drink. Her “Thanks, Trista,” resonates in the marrow of my bones.
Stunned, I turn my head slowly to make certain I’m not losing my mind. It can’t be…
“You’re welcome, teach.”
It’s unmistakably my Amy. Just seeing her feels like I just got rammed into the boards. My heart pumps so hard in my chest, I’m afraid I’m going to pass out.
“Don’t let your kids give you any grief today.” The young barista behind the counter encourages her.
“Thanks, Trista. I’ll be sure to tell them you said that.” The beauty of her smile still illuminates the room, even if it’s not aimed in my direction.
I grip the edge of the counter, grounding myself in the feel of the cool wood beneath my fingers. How is it possible Amy is standing in front of me?
When she turns toward the door, our eyes connect. My breath falters even as emotions flit across her face—recognition giving way to anger and disdain before flipping to a mask so blank it causes my stomach to drop. Without a word of acknowledgement, she saunters out the door.
I don’t move.
I can’t speak.
It isn’t until the woman behind the counter clears her throat prompting, “Sir?” I blink and realize I’m holding up the line.
“Right,” I mutter. “Uh, I’ll have that honey latte thing. Also a piece of honey loaf bread.”
“Would you like it here or to go?”
“Here.” I tap my card, add a tip, and take a seat along the wall, my back to most of the room. I stare out the window until sunlight blinds me. As my eyes adjust as rapidly as my heart, I realize two truths.
I didn’t imagine her. And there’s no way this is a coincidence.
Whipping out my phone, I text Mark:
Me:
You knew she lives here?
Of course now is when he chooses not to respond. I’m grateful when my name is called to pick up my order. After sitting back down, I take a sip and consider what I heard. She’s a teacher.
She always said this is what she wanted.
We’re sprawled on the grass outside the library. Amy goes quiet as a line of sorority girls from Delta Phi pass by. Brielle purrs, “Hey Brennan.” A flare of anger hits when I realize she doesn’t acknowledge Amy.
I’m grateful when she takes her blingy backpack brigade and rounds the corner. That’s when Amy pipes up. “I want to teach so kids feel safe. Not just from learning but from social status. Learning should be a safe place.”
I look at her because her voice has gone soft in that reverent way it does when she’s brushing up against something sacred.
“I want kids who don't quite fit in to realize they have a voice—a place.” she continues, fingers twisting blades of grass into knots. “I want to be the person they feel comfortable coming to if they haven’t found it yet.”
I scored two goals last night. Coach is talking me up to the pros non-stop. Yet none of that feels as important as what Amy wants to do.
Amy isn’t talking about a career. She’s talking about a mission she’s already committed to.
I drain the last of my coffee, with questions running through my head. How long has she lived here? Is she married? I’m rattled in a way I haven’t been since I took the hit.
Why would Mark suggest uprooting my life to drop me back into hers?
Because suddenly, the town’s behavior doesn’t seem so random. It's protecting one of its own.
Against me.