Chapter 18
Tanner
Istand by the trunk of Louis’s SUV, staring at the cabin perched on the cliff’s edge.
In the last four days, this place has somehow managed to feel more like home than anywhere I’ve lived since I was fourteen years old.
The rain has reduced to a fine, misty drizzle, coating the world in a soft focus and blurring the line between the gray sky and the churning ocean.
For the last few days, I wasn’t Tanner Sinclair, the rookie trying to prove himself. I wasn’t the backup, or the kid with the single mom, or the guy terrified of letting anyone see the real him. I was just Tanner. And Louis was just Louis.
“You okay back there, Sinc?”
Louis’s voice cuts through the mist. He’s standing by the passenger door, his good hand resting on the frame. He looks relaxed, the dark circles that have been under his eyes since his injury reduced to almost nothing. Lots of sleep and salt air has been healthy for both of us.
“Yeah,” I call back. “Enjoying the view one last time.”
I slam the trunk shut with a heavy, final-sounding thud before sliding into the driver’s seat. The car smells of wet wool, stale coffee, and that underlying scent of expensive soap and musk that I’m starting to associate with Louis. With comfort.
“Ready to head back to civilization?” Louis asks as we buckle up.
“Not really,” I admit, putting the car in gear. The gravel crunches under the tires as we roll down the drive, the towering spruce trees closing in around us like a tunnel.
“We should come back,” he says softly. “Maybe in the summer. When I can actually chop wood with two hands.”
My heart does a slow, heavy thud against my ribs. He’s thinking about a future where we’re still doing this. My heart flutters, and I have to bite my lip not to smile at the thought.
The silence is easy and comfortable for the first part of the drive.
Louis hums along to the radio, his head tipped back against the headrest, eyes closed.
I keep one hand on the wheel, navigating the slick curves of Highway 101, letting myself believe that maybe, just maybe, I can have both.
The career I’ve bled for and this man who has somehow figured out how to make the noise in my head go quiet.
Maybe I don’t have to choose. Maybe Seattle can actually be home.
We hit a stretch of road where the dense forest canopy opens up, reconnecting us with the world. And with the cell towers.
Ping.
Ping. Ping. Ping.
The sound is jarring in the quiet cabin. Both our phones, resting in the center console, light up simultaneously. Notifications cascade down the screens as the world crashes back in.
“Guess we’re really back to reality,” Louis mutters without opening his eyes.
I glance down at my screen. A text message banner sits at the top.
Sender: Carson Wells
My stomach drops. A text from the GM on a break week? That can’t be good.
I tap the screen, grateful Louis isn’t looking.
Sinclair. You need to contact me as soon as possible. Urgent. Come into my office the moment you’re back in town.
The words blur. Urgent. Come to my office.
My grip on the steering wheel tightens until my knuckles ache. My old, familiar friend, anxiety bordering on panic, claws at my throat.
Are they trading me?
It’s the first thought, but that’s irrational. I’m the starter, and Lou won’t be ready to play for several weeks yet. They still need me.
Did someone see us?
Ice floods my veins. If someone saw us at the lodge, if they took photos and put them online. Shit, that wouldn’t be good.
The car’s Bluetooth system interrupts my spiral with a phone call, the car’s screen displaying the caller’s name.
Incoming Call: Nichole Raymond Agent
Louis jerks upright, his eyes snapping open. “Shit.”
He reaches for the console, tapping the screen to answer. “Hey, Nic.”
“Lou! How are you!” I’ve never met the woman, but the excitement in her voice is obvious, even though I can only hear it leaking through his phone’s speaker. “I’ve been trying to reach you all morning! Have you heard the trade rumors?”
“Nah, I’ve been off-grid for a couple days,” Louis says. His tone is casual, but his posture stiffens. “What’s up? I know I can’t be on the block. I’ve got the no-trade clause.”
I can’t make out her exact words, but I catch fragments. Minnesota. Hansen injured. Season-ending.
When I glance over at him, he’s staring out the rainy windshield, his expression stony. The soft, relaxed man who woke up in my arms this morning has disappeared.
“Uh-huh,” he says flatly.
She starts talking again, but I can’t make out the words. But whatever she’s telling him doesn’t sound good. His jaw tightens as he listens, and when he responds, he seems like he’s forcing a lightness into his voice.
“Yeah. Okay, sure, yeah. I’ll talk to you later, then.”
After saying goodbye, he lowers the phone slowly, staring at the black screen for a second before dropping it back into the cup holder.
The silence in the car has teeth now.
“Everything okay?” I ask. The words are like ash in my mouth.
Louis doesn’t look at me. He adjusts his sling mechanically. “Yeah. Just some contract stuff. Boring shit. Nothing to worry about.”
Liar.
I saw his face. I heard the tone. That wasn’t boring contract stuff. Whatever his agent told him has him upset.
My anxiety surges again. I want last night’s version of Louis back. The guy who made me feel comfortable. Like I belong. Like I’m not a guest in my own life.
“I, uh…” I swallow hard. “I got a text from Carson. He wants me in his office ASAP. Says it’s urgent.”
Panic bleeds into my voice. I wait for Louis shoot me a reassuring grin and make a dumb joke to cut the tension. But he doesn’t. He stares straight ahead at the gray road stretching out in front of us.
When he does respond, his voice is weirdly distant and detached. “If Carson says it’s urgent, don’t make him wait. You should go straight there after I drop you off.”
I blink, stung. “Lou? What’s going on?”
“It’s fine, Tanner. Nothing to worry about. My shoulder’s aching a little, that’s all.”
More lies.
He shoots me a smile, but he’s not fooling me for one second. Something’s going on, and for some reason, he can’t, or won’t, tell me what he knows.
He pulls his phone out again and starts scrolling, effectively ending our conversation. The connection we built over the last four days snaps. Just like that.
The rest of the drive is a blur of rain and windshield wipers. I spend the whole time spinning out. Overthinking and analyzing every variable like it’s an Olympic event. Does he regret the trip? Did the call scare him? Is he pushing me away because I’m in some kind of trouble?
I feel sick.
We pull up to my building, not far from the practice rink, where Carson will be waiting for me. The rain’s coming down harder, hammering against the roof of the SUV. I pull into a parking spot, but he stops me.
“You should just pull up to the front door. My place isn’t far; I’ll drive home from here. You should go see Carson right away.”
I nod, doing what he asks, and we both get out of the car.
I can’t stand this anymore, so before I grab my bag from the back, I stop him before he slides behind the wheel.
“Louis, wait.”
He turns to look at me, raindrops clinging to his eyelashes. He looks exhausted again. Like the last four days of rest and relaxation never happened.
“Do you—do you know something?” I shouldn’t ask him. Even if he knows anything, it’s probably just a rumor. But I don’t know any other way to ask him what’s going on without sounding like I’m begging. And I don’t beg.
He looks at me for a moment before shaking his head, his eyes dropping to his shoes. “Nah, kid, I don’t know anything. But you should go meet Carson. He’ll tell you what’s going on.”
“Right. Sure. Here,” I say, handing him the keys. My hand brushes his, and he flinches.
Actually flinches.
“Thanks for driving,” he says. It sounds like a line from a script.
“Are we… are we good?” I ask, hating how small my voice sounds.
He looks at my mouth, then up to my eyes. For a split second, the guy I spent the last few days with is there. But just as quickly, his expression shutters, and that guy is gone.
He leans in and kisses me. But it’s not like the kisses at the cabin. It’s brief and impersonal. Almost like a period at the end of a sentence. Or a goodbye.
“You better go see Carson,” he says before turning to slide into his car. “Don’t keep him waiting.”
“Lou—”
“Go, Tanner. I’ll see you soon.”
I stand there in the rain, water dripping off my nose, watching helplessly as he drives off without looking back.
I swipe my key card to get into the garage, deciding not to bother taking my bag upstairs. I need to get to Carson to find out what’s going on before I lose my mind. When I get into my car, my hands are shaking so bad I can barely start the engine.
Our little bubble didn’t just burst. It exploded.
Walking through the Sasquatch practice facility to Carson’s office feels like walking to the gallows. The cool air, the faint hum of the ice plant, and the smell of rubber mats and hockey gear are normally a comfort, but not today.
My chest is tight with the familiar vise grip of anxiety, squeezing my lungs until breathing feels like something I need to think about, rather than an automatic function.
I check my phone one last time as I approach the admin office, but there’s nothing from Louis. Of course there’s nothing. He kissed me goodbye like I was a distant relative he was seeing off at the airport instead of someone he had spent the last four days in bed with.
I shove the phone into my pocket and square my shoulders. Here goes.
Carson’s assistant, Kelly Garneau, smiles when I walk in. “Hi, Tanner. He’s expecting you. Go ahead in,” they say.
I swallow hard before knocking.
“Come in.”
The Sasquatch’s general manager is sitting behind his desk, flanked by floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the Seattle skyline. It’s gray and rainy again, which seems appropriate, given my mood.