24. Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Four
Kevin
Marie's is exactly what I wanted. There’s dim lighting, white tablecloths, and candles on every table. The hostess leads us to a corner table that feels private despite the restaurant being nearly full.
Sarah slides into the booth and I sit across from her, watching the candlelight play across her face. The green dress makes her eyes look almost golden in this light. It occurs to me that I’m trying very hard not to stare.
And I’m absolutely failing.
"This is really nice," she says softly.
"You're worth it."
She ducks her head, but I catch the smile. "You don't have to try so hard, you know. It's just me."
"That's exactly why I'm trying so hard."
The waiter arrives before she can respond. I order a bourbon. Sarah asks for hot tea, and I watch her scan the menu. As she’s reading, I’m still studying everything about her. Like how the little crease between her eyebrows gets as she thinks about the items in the entrée section.
"You okay?" I ask.
"Just making sure there's nothing that'll make me want to run for the bathroom." She sets down the menu. "I'm going with the safest option possible. Chicken. Plain."
"Exciting."
"I'm living on the edge." She grins. It lights up her face — and my heart. "What are you getting?"
"Steak. Medium rare. I'm basic."
"You're a hockey player. A giant, basic steak for an athlete has only turned into a cliché because it’s true."
We order — the plainest chicken on the menu for her, a giant, basic steak for me — and the waiter disappears. There's a breadbasket between us. Neither of us reaches for it. We're both nervous, and I'm pretty sure if I try to butter bread right now, I'm going to drop it in my lap.
"So," Sarah says. "First real date."
"First real date," I confirm.
"We've done this backwards, haven't we?" She's playing with her napkin. "Most people date first, then move in together, then have a baby. We went dog, baby, roommates date."
"I've never been good at following instructions unless they came from a coach. Hockey players can be kinda stupid."
She laughs, and it's real. Not deflecting. Just genuinely amused. "Kevin St. Clair, rule breaker."
"That's going on my tombstone."
"Right under 'loved dogs and got in fights with Canadians'."
"Hey, they started it."
"They always do." She's still smiling, but then her expression shifts. Gets a little more serious. "How was the road trip? Really?"
"Long," I say, not wanting to waste the moment by being anything other than honest. "You weren't there."
"I was home with Ranger. Living my best couch life. Besides, it was two games in three days. You were barely gone."
"Yeah, but I wasn't with you." I take a drink of bourbon, trying to find the words. "Liam called me out during the Carolina game. Said I'd been watching the clock the whole third period."
"Were you?"
"Yeah. Counting down until the plane took off for Austin."
She goes very still. I watch her figure out what I'm actually saying.
"Kevin—"
"I'm serious, Sarah." I lean forward. "I've spent over a year pretending Wing Wednesday was just hanging out with friends.
Eighteen months telling myself that dog-sitting was just convenient.
That every time I texted you it was just about Ranger or the rescue or something practical.
" I reach across the table, take her hand. "I'm done pretending."
"Oh," she says quietly. Her hand tightens around mine. The single word is not quite the answer I realize I was hoping for, but her hand in mine is still something.
I can work with this.
I will work with this.
I will work with whatever she gives me.
The food arrives. We eat. Talk about Ranger's latest Instagram metrics — the Super PawMart partnership is blowing up, apparently. The rescue's adoption event at Zilker this weekend. Duke preparing to move to his new home with Karen and her husband.
Safe topics. Easy topics.
But I keep watching her. The way she cuts her chicken into precise pieces. The way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she's listening. The way her eyes catch the candlelight when she looks up at me.
I'm so gone for this woman it's not even funny.
And then she sets down her fork and looks at me directly.
"How was the call with your agent this morning?"
Fuck.
"Fine."
Sarah isn't buying a single bit of that one syllable. "Kevin St. Clair. I’d use your middle name, but come to think of it, I don’t know it."
“It’s Patrick. My mom’s maiden name.” Answering that is far safer than answering the real question she’s asking. I take a drink of my bourbon. Then another. "Well, you know my contract's up at the end of the season."
She goes very still. "And?"
I might as well tell her. She's going to find out eventually, and I can't build what I need to build with Sarah by keeping things from her.
"Vegas wants me. Dave can't talk to them officially until January, but what he's being relayed unofficially is real interest. They'd probably offer five years, $7.
5 million per year. Vancouver's asking questions — they'd offer top-pairing minutes, six years, probably $8 million per.
Austin's in the mix around $6.5-7 million, but they haven't made a formal offer yet. "
Sarah's processing this. I watch her face shift from surprise to understanding to something that looks like resignation.
"So, you really might not be in Austin next year."
"I don't know. Maybe. Probably, if Austin doesn't make a competitive offer."
Long pause. She's trying to wrap her head around it.
Then she decides what she needs to say.
"I'm keeping this baby, Kevin. I’ve spent my whole life convinced I'd end up exactly like everyone else in my family.
But this baby?" Her voice is steady but vulnerable.
"I think this one was meant for me, that maybe I was meant to take the chance.
To be more. To create something I once wished I had. "
The words hit me right in the chest. "I know. You will. We will. You aren’t your mom. I’m not your dad. Sarah, I want to be there. I'm going to be there. Not just weekends and holidays. I want to be an actual dad."
"But if you're in Vegas or Vancouver or wherever..." She trails off. "How does that work?"
I don't have an answer. Haven't had one since Dave laid out the options this morning.
"I can't leave Austin," Sarah continues. Her hands are wrapped around her tea mug like she needs something to hold onto. "Diane can't run LSP alone. I can't just walk away and do nothing but film Instagram reels for a photogenic dog. It’s work that will get more dogs adopted, and I’m grateful for it. But I can’t leave what’s mine. "
"I'm not asking you to."
"Then what happens? You're playing two thousand miles away and what — you FaceTime from Vegas for bedtime stories? Fly back from Vancouver once a month?" Her voice cracks slightly. "That's not being a dad, Kevin. That's being an off-season visitor who sends checks the rest of the time."
The words land like the hardest slapshot to the ribs I've ever taken. Because she's right. That's exactly who I would become.
Silence settles between us, growing uncomfortable and impossible to ignore.
"So, I need Austin to re-sign me," I say finally. "That's the answer."
Sarah shakes her head. "You can't take a bad deal just to stay here. You've worked your whole life for a deal with that kind of money."
"It's not about the money—"
She cuts me off. "It is about the money.
Not for you, for our baby. This is the contract that sets up their life.
College funds, opportunities, everything.
" Her eyes are shining now, but she's not crying.
She's fighting through this. "I can't let you leave millions on the table because of me and then watch you wish you'd made different choices when this baby needs something we can't afford. "
"That wouldn't happen—"
"You don't know that." She leans forward, and I can see the fear in her expression.
"What if something happens? What if they have medical needs or special education needs or they want to play a sport that costs thousands?
You know exactly how much travel sports cost. You're a product of them.
You can't give up your one chance to provide the best life for your kid just to stay close to me. "
"Our kid. And you're not hearing me." I reach across the table, take her hand. "I don't care about the money if it means losing you. Losing this." I gesture between us.
"And you're not hearing me." She mirrors the same gesture I just made. "Our kid deserves a dad who made the right financial choice for their future, not one who's looking at their college fund two decades from now, wishing he'd taken the Vegas offer."
We're at an impasse.
Neither of us has an answer.
Neither of us knows what the fuck to do.
"I can't choose between my career and my family, Sarah.
I don't know how to do that. I just need Austin to make an offer that doesn't make me look like an idiot for taking it.
" I pull my hand back, run it through my hair.
"So why is everyone acting like that's the wrong choice?
Dave thinks I'm throwing my career away.
You think I'm going to resent you in twenty years.
But what do I think about me twenty years from now, if I leave?
If I miss everything that matters, but my bank account looks good? "
"I know. And I'm not saying you're wrong. I just don’t know if I can carry the weight of being the reason you sacrifice an offer for your future that you can never get back."
The waiter comes by to clear our plates. We both decline dessert. Neither of us could eat another bite right now anyway.
I pay the check and we walk out into the November night. The air is cool but not cold, just perfect Austin weather. It’s a crisp bite of fall with none of the chilling discomfort, and it makes you understand why people move here and never leave.
Which is exactly the problem, isn't it? Neither of us wants to leave. But what that looks like to each of us feels a million miles apart.