Chapter 32 Fletcher
FLETCHER
Idon’t know what I’m doing back at the rink.
The security guard gives me a weird look then decides that it’s not his business.
I push through the heavy doors and breathe in the familiar smell of the ice mixed with sweaty hockey gear—that sharp, clean cold cuts through with the musk of a thousand practices and games.
It’s a smell that’s been burned into my memory since I was seven years old, wearing skates that were two sizes too big because that’s what we could afford.
I lace up slowly, each eyelet a small ritual, a meditation I’ve performed thousands of times before. Now for the last time.
I don’t put on my gear—just drift into the center of the ice, look up at the rafters of the brand-new stadium where, for a brief moment in time, I thought I might have my flag up there.
I’ve watched those videos a hundred times—NHL players hoisting the Stanley Cup, tears streaming down their faces, pure joy radiating from every pore.
And in every single one of those videos, there’s someone next to them.
A wife, a girlfriend, someone who matters more than the trophy itself.
Someone to share the moment that makes all the pain worth it.
I can’t imagine doing any of that without Ellie. She must hate me. No, scratch that—she does hate me. I basically told her she didn’t deserve to be here, which is the furthest thing from the truth. She deserves to be here in the NHL, more than anyone. More than me, certainly.
“What are you still doing here?” Hudson’s voice booms across the ice.
“Just can’t quit hockey,” I say, not bothering to skate over. My voice carries in the empty arena.
“You don’t have a job.”
“I know.”
Hudson studies me for a long moment. “You’re passable at this one, though. Not great but passable. I always need workers who understand how to infiltrate, how to get information.” He jerks his chin at me. “I need to send someone to the Midwest—pays good, if you’re interested.”
“I can’t leave my team,” I say, though even as the words leave my mouth, they sound hollow.
Hudson laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “The team’s not going to be there after Christmas, so whatever. Suit yourself.”
My blood turns to ice water. “What?”
“Rumor has it Dana’s selling the team. They’re moving to the West Coast.”
The words hit harder than taking a shoulder to the head.
“They can’t do that—Dana can’t do that.” I shake my head. “Ellie worked so hard for this. Poured everything she had into making this team work, into proving herself. You should have seen the shit they said about her.” My fists clench. “And they’re just going to yank it away from her.”
I didn’t even get to tell her I love her.
“While I find your white-knighting for your coach revolting, I actually think it’s probably more because Eddie told the news she was having an affair with one of her players.”
“That motherfucker.”
“I thought you knew. Figured you were here because you want a crack at Eddie.” He clocks the confusion on my face. “He went to the Boston Harbor Hawks.”
“I’m sure he’s shit-talking her to them,” I glower. “He did it to hurt Ellie. Fuck, I should have just stayed here and beat the shit out of him when I had the chance.”
I want Hudson to fight me, want to unleash the anger.
Hudson just smirks. “That’s why you’re good at this job—you’re aggressive, want to win at all costs.”
“I’m going to fucking kill him!” I roar, the words echoing around the empty stadium.
“There it is. I’m putting money on your game.”