Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
HARPER
My laptop camera catches me at a terrible angle from where I’m seated in the corner of the coffee shop, but at this point, I’m too caffeinated and too far into this week to care.
The screen glitches for a second, then Jean’s face pops up, her sharp cheekbones, red lipstick, and the kind of power bob that could slice through bad contracts and weaker men staring back at me.
“Harper, darling,” Jean says in that honey-sweet voice that usually precedes trouble. “You look tired. Have you eaten anything today that wasn’t coffee?”
“I had half a granola bar,” I reply, scrolling through a spreadsheet of client renewals. “And a handful of goldfish crackers. So, basically, I’m thriving.”
She snorts. “You work like you’re still trying to prove something.”
“Probably because I am.”
Jean leans back in her chair. Her background screams New York office luxury: skyline view, art I can’t afford, a decanter I’m ninety percent sure is filled with gin. “How’s Anaheim treating you? Regret leaving the East Coast yet?”
“Not yet,” I say, even though I’ve been in California for barely six months. “Traffic’s hell, but the sunshine is a glorious heaven.”
“And the boy?”
“He’s good. Started hockey camp last week and loves it. He doesn’t shut up about it, honestly.”
“Of course he does. Takes after his mother. Stubborn, competitive, slightly terrifying, and passionate about the things she loves.”
I grin despite myself. “Slightly terrifying?”
The Next Play Agency brought me on board seven years ago and Jean Delacruz has been my dear colleague and mentor ever since.
We work well together, teaming up to bring the firm as many high-profile athletes as we can.
Though I’m considered a senior member in the firm now, I don’t think I will ever feel like I’m not trying to prove my worth.
That’s why when the company opened a sister firm on the west coast, I jumped at the opportunity to lead the team.
I wanted the chance to spread my wings and see what I could do in a new territory.
I wanted to get the heck out of the doldrums of New York and see what a change of scenery could do.
For me and for my son.
Alright, my job may not have been the only reason for wanting to come to California, but I knew I could represent my clients from anywhere and Anaheim could be very good for Connor.
So far, life in Anaheim has been great. The stakes feel a bit higher here with everything so fresh and demanding, but I’m holding my own just fine.
Though knowing where Connor is at the moment, and that my world could split apart like a fault line at any given second, I’m fully aware I’m riding a fine line and sooner or later I’m going to have to face my truths.
I take a sip of my now lukewarm coffee, grimacing at the taste. Coffee and I have a love-hate relationship. Mostly hate lately, but it’s the only thing keeping my body from staging a coup.
“What about you? Still trying to save the world one athlete at a time?”
Jean rolls her eyes dramatically. “Please, it’s like herding cats, but with more egos.” She leans closer to the screen, her gaze piercing. “Speaking of athletes, have you run into him yet?”
“Him who?”
She cocks her head knowingly. “You know who. You’ve been in Anaheim for six months and you haven’t seen Harrison?”
The mere mention of his name sends a shiver of panic down my spine. I shake my head, swallowing another sip of my terrible coffee. “Not yet.”
“And Connor is with him right now?”
“Well…” I shrug. “I mean it’s a hockey camp with several of the team members so…”
God, I’m so full of shit.
Jean chuckles. “You know you’re full of shit, right?”
“Yep. Well aware.” I nod and take another sip of my coffee.
“Well as long as we agree.” She winks, then slides on her reading glasses and squints at something offscreen. “Alright, enough small talk. I’ll let you tumble down that inevitable rabbit hole on your own.”
I barely have time to roll my eyes and sigh before she continues. “Let’s get to the good stuff. I’ve got something that might interest you. A potential new client. Well, three of them, actually.”
“Three?”
“Triplets,” she says, tapping her pen against her pad like she’s narrating a true crime episode.
“The Haynes brothers. One plays football, quarterback, apparently a real crowd-pleaser. The other two play baseball, one a pitcher, one a catcher. All coming up fast through the college ranks. Their current rep is…well, let’s just say he’s more ‘dad with a spreadsheet’ than agent material. ”
I sit up straighter. “Triplets, huh? That’s a PR gold mine. Built-in brand symmetry, family story, crossover potential…”
“Exactly,” Jean says, smiling like a proud mother hen.
“The football one—Shepherd—is getting draft buzz. Killian and Bishop are already being scouted for MLB farm teams. They’re young, marketable, and they need someone who can handle the complexity of multiple contracts and image management.
Which, if I recall correctly, is your specialty. ”
I flip to a new tab and furiously type out a few notes. “What’s their angle? Are they looking for full-service representation or just contract negotiation?”
“Full service. But I want you to take the lead on this. You’re our closer, Harper, and besides, I’m much closer to retirement age than you are. My goal before I’m done here is to make sure you have a full docket of clients to keep you busy.”
“I’m honored and excited! I’ll do whatever I can for these boys.”
“I know you will,” she says with a satisfied smile.
“They’re based in the Midwest for now, but rumor has it they all might end up in the pros within the next year.
It could be a huge win for the agency. And for you.
And just imagine if you were to get them all in the same city.
The branding you could come up with for the hometown heroes. ”
She’s not wrong.
This could be a gold mine.
My chest does that fluttery thing that only comes from career adrenaline. “Send me their files. I’ll do a deep dive tonight.”
Jean smirks. “That’s my girl. Just don’t forget to breathe. You’ve been working like a machine since the move.”
“I’m fine,” I lie, twirling a pen between my fingers.
“Fine usually means running on fumes and unresolved emotional baggage,” she says, arching a brow. “And before you tell me I’m wrong, remember I’ve known you since your internship. You only get that crease between your brows when you’re trying not to think about something.”
I freeze, feeling that old ache surface. The one that has a name, a number, and a jersey that still lives rent-free in my brain. The one that is hanging out with my kid on the ice and doesn’t even know it.
“Just work,” I say quickly. “I’m focused on work.”
Jean gives me a long, knowing look but lets it slide, thank God. “Alright, Harper the Machine. I’ll email you the Haynes file. And maybe—just maybe—go outside this weekend. Touch grass. Flirt with a human. Maybe even one who doesn’t own a helmet.”
“Ha-ha,” I deadpan.
“Goodbye, darling,” she sings, blowing me a kiss before logging off.
The call ends, and I’m left staring at my reflection on the blank screen.
The city sun filters through the coffee shop window, lighting up the stack of files sitting on the table in front of me, the half-empty coffee cup, and my phone currently dinging to remind me it’s time to go pick up Connor.
I stop the alarm and smile at the picture of my son in his hockey gear, his helmet slightly crooked, his grin pure joy.
And then I lean back and sigh.
Triplet athletes, new opportunities for Connor and me, a move across the country. Every box of my plan checked off one by one.
If only I didn’t feel like I’m skating on thin ice.
I toss my laptop into my bag, grab my phone, and pitch the hours-old coffee in the garbage on my way out of the cafe. Then I head down the street toward the arena to watch the last thirty minutes of Connor’s practice.
When I get inside I quietly find a seat among a sea of other parents where I can blend in and not draw attention to myself. I smile when I catch a glimpse of Connor racing down the ice, giggling as one of the Stars players chases him.
Barrett Cunningham. At least I assume it’s him judging by the number on his jersey.
I can’t help but chuckle as I watch Connor try to evade Barrett, his laughter ringing through the rink like music.
He’s got that kid energy, the kind that can light up a room, or in this case, an ice arena, just by being himself.
It’s infectious. The kid’s natural talent is undeniable, and seeing him out there, skating with the Stars’ players, makes my heart swell with pride.
As hard as I try not to look, my eyes betray me and find Harrison on the other end of the ice.
In a way he hasn’t changed a bit from the man I once knew.
Harrison stands tall and confident on the ice; his hockey jersey fitted perfectly to his muscular frame.
His dark hair is slightly longer but still styled in the same messy yet charming way it always was.
His eyes still hold that piercing gaze, and a faint smile plays on his lips.
He skates with ease and grace, just like he did when I first met him.
Despite the passing years, he looks good.
Really good.
As much as I’ve missed him, the wave of pride that courses through me knowing how hard he’s worked to get where he is, is almost worth the pain I felt walking away from him.
I take a deep breath, the cool rink air filling my lungs, but it does little to quell the storm brewing inside me.
There’s so much to unpack between us, too much history.
Too many unspoken words.