23. Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Three
Kevin
This point in the season, it all starts to blur together, game after game. We beat Dallas at home, then hopped on a plane early the next morning for a road trip. Now we’re wrapping up this last game of a short East Coast swing.
"Sunshine!" Liam's yelling at me from the bench. "Wake the fuck up!"
Right. Game. Focus.
Carolina's center tries to split our defense on the rush. I read it before he commits, angle him wide, pin him into the boards just hard enough to jar the puck loose. Clean. Effective. Josh clears it down the ice.
Whistle. Line change.
I skate to the bench and Liam's waiting. "You good? You've been somewhere else all night."
"I'm good."
"Bullshit." He hands me a water bottle. "You've looked at the clock every thirty seconds for the last period."
Busted. I didn't think I was that obvious.
Aiden leans over from two spots down. "So, you finally made your move with Sarah? About damn time, Sunshine."
My head snaps up. "What?"
"You watch the clock when you're thinking about her.
" Liam's grinning now. "Usually, you're waiting for her to find a seat in the third.
Because we're on the road. So, you're either wondering if she's home and wearing your jersey, or you're counting down until the plane takes off for Austin. Or both."
Damn. When did Crash start paying attention to anything but pucks, fucks, and whiskey? Never took him for a relationship expert. Definitely not since everything went to shit with Quinn.
"She coming to Thanksgiving with all of us at Bear’s?" Aiden asks.
"I’m not going to be at Bear’s. My parents are coming in town for Thanksgiving."
Both of them go quiet for a second, processing.
"Your parents?" Liam repeats. "Dude."
"Does she know what she's getting into with you?" Aiden's smirking.
The buzzer sounds. My line's up.
"You fuckers don't even know the half of it," I mutter, hopping over the boards.
We hold on for the win. I'm first off the ice, first in the shower, first dressed and heading for the exit. The guys chirp me about it, but they're smiling. They think they know what's going on.
Joke's on them.
We’re taking a redeye back to Austin after the game.
The flight back feels endless even though it’s certainly not the longest flight we’ll take all season, not by a long shot.
I keep my mind from going in circles by playing cards with the rookies.
I check my phone the second we land. One text from Sarah, sent two hours ago while I was in the middle of cleaning Devocque out of a few grand on an epic match of Texas Hold ‘Em.
Ranger’s Mom
Ranger says hi. I brought Biscuit home for the night. He ate one of your shoes. The expensive ones.
I smile, despite the shoe casualty.
Be there in 20.
Ranger’s Mom
It's 1am. I'm in bed.
I hope it's mine.
Three dots appear, then disappear. Then nothing.
Shit. I probably said too much.
But it's the absolute fucking truth.
I want nothing more than Sarah in my bed, in my life — all of it — for the rest of my life.
I know it.
And it doesn't scare me. She’s mine.
My job now — even more than pucks and ice and goals — is to make sure it doesn't scare her.
I drive from Austin-Bergstrom International in record time, ignoring every instinct that says I shouldn't just kiss her senseless when I walk through the door.
Because that might scare her. And that's not the game plan.
My key's quiet in the lock. The living room's dark except for the glow from the muted TV. And there she is.
Sarah's curled up on the couch in my Stampede hoodie from two seasons ago, and it looks three sizes too big on her — which it absolutely is. Ranger's on the floor beside her, head up the second I walk in. Biscuit's somehow wedged between the couch cushions and Sarah's back.
I should wake her up. Carry her to the actual bed.
Instead, I grab the throw blanket from the chair and drape it over her. She shifts slightly, makes a delicate sound that goes straight to both my heart and my dick, but she doesn't wake up.
I'm so fucked.
Ranger follows me to my room. I strip down to boxer briefs, set my alarm, and climb into bed.
Twenty-eight years old and I'm finally understanding what home ice advantage really means.
I'm up by seven, body still on East Coast road trip time. Sarah stays asleep on the couch when I head to the kitchen to make coffee.
My phone buzzes while I'm pulling my extra large mug out of the cabinet next to the sink in preparation for the day’s coffee. Dave Loughlin's name flashes on the screen.
Fuck.
It's too early for agent shit. Contract talk always requires coffee. Lots of it. I give thanks for a fancy coffee maker with an alarm that has coffee waiting for me every morning. I pour the stark brown nectar of the gods in the mug and move to take the call in my office, door barely closed.
"Kevin." Dave's voice is all business. "We need to talk. I got your texts."
"Morning to you too."
"Six years, Kevin. I've represented you for six years. I had you on my radar before you went to Denver — I’ve been watching you since you were a kid. Never — and I mean never — have I seen you so determined to leave money on the table so you can be in a certain place."
I lean back in my chair, rubbing my eyes. Through the crack in my office door, I can see movement in the living room. Sarah's awake. Sitting up on the couch, running her hands through her hair.
"Six years is a long time, Dave. Sometimes people change."
"Vegas wants you."
My hand freezes on the armrest. "What?"
"All back channels and unofficial conversations at this point, but there's serious interest. They're talking five years, $7.5 million per."
The number hits me like a blindside check. That's $37.5 million guaranteed. That's generational wealth. That's everything I've worked for since I was six years old skating in Dallas, as my dad yelled positioning advice from the boards.
That's also over a thousand miles from Sarah.
I watch her stand up from the couch and stretch. She's still wearing my hoodie. It hangs to mid-thigh on her.
"And Austin?" My voice comes out rougher than I intended.
"Austin's in the mix. They're watching closely, asking questions. Word is they'd come in somewhere around $6.5-7 million per year, but they haven't made a formal offer yet."
So, Austin's competitive. Not quite Vegas money, but close enough that I wouldn't look like an idiot for taking it.
If they actually offer.
"They're being careful with their cap," Dave continues. "Question is whether they want to invest in a twenty-eight-year-old defenseman or if they'd rather go younger and cheaper."
Younger and cheaper. Right. Because I'm old now in hockey years. It’s like dog years, but harder on the joints. Two years from thirty. The back nine of my career.
Sarah's moving toward the kitchen now. I can see her silhouette through the crack in my door. She's humming something. Some country song she plays when she's cleaning kennels at the rescue.
"What about other teams?" I ask, even though I'm not sure I want to know.
There's a pause. Papers shuffling on Dave's end. That's never a good sign.
"Vancouver's asking questions."
The coffee mug I'm holding should probably shatter from how hard I'm gripping it. "No. Absolutely not."
"Kevin, I know, but hear me out—"
"Fjellvik and Vostrikov tried to end my season. Twice. I'm not playing for a team that employs those assholes."
"They're bottom six guys. They could be traded by next season."
"I don't give a fuck where they are. I'm not defending for them. I'm not wearing the same sweater as them. No."
Dave's silent for a beat. I can hear Sarah in the kitchen now. The kettle’s filling with water for morning herbal tea instead of coffee. There’s a mug being pulled from the cabinet.
"Vancouver would offer six years, probably $8 million per," Dave says carefully. "Top-pairing minutes. You’d likely run PK2, if not PK1. That's $48 million, Kevin. That's the security of an extra year and the highest AAV we're hearing about."
$48 million.
For playing alongside guys who've been headhunting me all season.
"Not happening."
"That's $10.5 million more than Vegas. That's—"
"I said no." My voice is harder than I intended. "I'd rather retire."
Another pause. I can hear the disappointment in Dave's silence.
Sarah's singing now. Soft, under her breath, but I can make it out through the door. Something about small towns and staying put. Very on the nose, universe. Thanks for that.
"The Kevin I signed years ago would've jumped at Vegas," Dave says finally. "Great team, great city, incredible nightlife for a single guy your age."
Single guy.
Right.
I try my best to keep watching Sarah through the gap in the door.
She moves around my kitchen like she belongs there.
Because she does. She's been dog-sitting for eighteen months, sleeping in my guest room on every road trip, leaving her shampoo in my shower and the rescue’s donation flyers on my counter.
And now she's pregnant with my kid.
"So, walk me through why Austin matters so much," Dave says. "You got ties there I don't know about?"
The bathroom door closes down the hall. I hear the shower turn on.
I can't tell him. Not yet. Sarah and I haven't even figured out what we are. How the hell am I supposed to explain it to my agent?
"I like the team. I like the city."
"That's not an answer." Dave's voice sharpens. "You're a single guy in his twenties making millions of dollars playing professional hockey. Vegas has shows, nightlife, you can fly anywhere in three hours. Vancouver's got mountains, ocean, a whole different country to explore. What am I missing?"
Everything. You're missing everything, Dave.
"It's just... I'm comfortable here."
Dave sighs heavily. He knows I'm holding back and he's not happy about it.
"Comfortable is what kills careers, Kevin. Look, I'm not saying take Vegas. I'm not even saying eliminate Austin. I'm saying keep your options open."