Chapter 12
DANIEL
The beer is cold, and the view is worth every penny. I take another long pull from the bottle of lager, causing the back of my head to tap against the Adirondack chair. Roman was just mastering the art of skipping rocks when the wind picked up, and the water grew rougher. “Good job, buddy.”
Summer went to retrieve him so we could grill hot dogs for lunch, giving me time to think about the confusing call with Coach. Why in the fuck would they want me not playing to my full potential?
“What’s on your mind?” she asks, sitting beside me.
“Fine.”
She laughs. “Daniel?”
Her voice startles me from my thoughts. “What?”
“You answered fine to me asking what’s on your mind.” Sitting forward, she says, “You’ve muttered the f-word twice and said Coach under your breath at least three times. I also heard ‘soft’ in there. So let me try this again. What’s on your mind?” She sits back and crosses her legs at the ankles.
Her eyes pivot to Roman regularly, like he’s her own, but when she looks at me, I can tell her attention is fully mine.
It settles a piece in my chest I didn’t know was out of sync.
Roman is my world, but her presence is bigger and more important than either of us could have anticipated.
It’s like I have an ally for the first time in my life.
Most people don’t stick around, or I don’t let them. I find myself wanting Summer’s company, though. Accepting her like we’ve known each other for years instead of days.
“I came to the Cove to spend time with Roman out of the spotlight. It’s hard to walk around sometimes without getting recognized. I didn’t want that to invade our time together. But I also had some searching to do.”
“Soul-searching, or are you looking for something?”
Leaning forward to match her, I reach over and rub her knee. “Both. I had a decision to make, but that’s been taken out of my hands. It will now be made for me.”
She angles closer as if to protect Roman from overhearing. “I don’t understand.”
“I could play until I’m forty, even forty-five if I can keep my body from losing for me.
” With rapt attention, she listens as if this is personal for her.
“I’ve been told I’m too aggressive on the ice.
My teammates are more kumbaya these days than competitive.
I’m not from this generation. I play to win.
Whatever it takes. I play my best every game, to get my team one step closer to winning the Stanley Cup again.
” I grip the bottle harder as Coach’s words run on repeat through my head.
“I’m supposed to put on a good PR show.”
“Why?”
“To show the bad boy of hockey is a reformed man, to soften my image, and make the game more family-friendly to grow the TV audience, according to the owners. That’s where the money is made.”
“Hockey is family . . .” Her gaze drifts away to Roman again. When she looks at me again, she says, “Wait, it is pretty rough. Teeth are flying, blood on the ice. I’ve only caught bits of games, and I know it can be hard to watch sometimes.”
The stab of betrayal digs deep, and I sit back and finish my beer. “You agree with him?”
“No. I just think it’s not for little kids. We’re teaching them to be nice to each other, to share, not to hit or bite—”
“I’ve never bitten anyone.”
She cracks up laughing. “I’d hope not. My point is we teach little kids about manners and to take care of one another, and then bam, grown adults are beating the crap out of each other on TV.”
“Boxing. MMA, Cage—”
“Doesn’t matter. Their owners aren’t trying to make it family-friendly. Your team’s owners are. And if they are, the other owners are as well. It’s probably a league-wide push.”
“Are you on their side or mine?”
Resting back in the chair, she lifts her heels to the edge, bringing her knees to her chest. Smooth legs and tanned skin.
She fits her name better than any other ever could.
With her arms wrapped around her legs, she says, “Yours, Sutton. But not because I think they’re entirely wrong.
I’m on your side because it’s your love of this game that brings in the viewers.
It’s your style of play that keeps you scoring.
But mostly, why mess with perfection?” She doesn’t just butter me up. She slathers me in the stuff.
“Do you know how sexy it is to hear you say that?”
“I’m hoping very,” she replies, taking the last sip of her beer.
“Don’t doubt it for a second.”
I can feel my blood pulsing through my veins, as if reaching toward the woman curled up in the chair next to me.
We watch Roman as he plays where the lawn falls under rocks that lead to the water.
My gaze trails out to the ocean beyond. Without it, the cove would be quiet.
Too quiet, if you ask me. But the water rolling in and out is a balm to the chaos in my head, a reminder to slow down.
That my problems are less important if I focus on the moment instead.
Not everything needs to be resolved today.
It was a request by Coach. A demand by the owners.
I don’t have to listen to either of them, though it is implied I should.
They should know by now that I’m going to buck the system.
Fans would revolt if I went soft on the ice.
Are they really going to sacrifice their star player, who brings in millions in sponsorships, to make a point? Not in a million years.
She sets her feet on the ground again. “What does putting on a good PR show mean exactly?”
It’s not like I haven’t thought about it, but what that entails is more complicated yet has gotten diluted in the messaging. “It means I have to play nice.”
“And nice means? Not saying things you shouldn’t, and?”
“Be the golden boy they want me to be. Smile for the cameras. Use my son for photo ops. Be seen publicly with only one woman.”
I see her try so hard not to let the shock of my words control her, and she’s doing a decent job, but then asks, “Do you sleep with a lot of women?”
“No. But I used to.” This isn’t a topic I care to discuss, but I understand her interest. “I outgrew sowing my oats in my early thirties.”
“That late, huh?” She flashes a grin, and then it’s gone again.
“Truth?” I laugh humorlessly. “I had no reason to change.”
“Then why did you?”
“Because it wasn’t serving me anymore. I didn’t feel good, and I wasn’t happy.
I wanted to be happy for my son. He watches me on TV fighting and pushing plays to the limits.
When I was with him, I wanted to feel good, not fighting a hangover or bad mood, and for us to have fun because that’s how I want him to remember me. ”
She sits up and gets to her feet. Coming to stand in front of me, she wedges my feet apart with the toe of her sneaker to slip into the opening.
Resting her hands on my thighs, her lips are so close to mine as she eyes my mouth.
The tease. It would only be a taste, so quick that I would have to savor the swift kiss.
But I don’t kiss her yet. This isn’t how it should be, not with her.
It should matter and have meaning, not just playing out my selfish fantasy.
“Caring about your son more than yourself . . . Now that is incredibly attractive in a man.”
Running my hands down the backs of her arms, I whisper, “Not sexy?”
“So sexy.” Her breathing jags as she takes in a staggering breath. Moving closer, and closer still, she suddenly stops, standing stick straight with her eyes widening. “Dang it. I need to answer this. Hold my place, I’ve been waiting for Mrs. Dover to call me back.”
Turning away, she grabs her phone. “Hi.” She doesn’t get another word in before plugging her free ear and then looking down as she toes the decking.
“He was such a jerk.” I’m not sure if she’s aware she’s even doing it, but she starts to pace in front of me.
“If you had heard him . . . I understand.” She glances at me.
“He’s taken care of.” So she says . . . I smirk.
She moves toward the house and out of my vantage point. I catch random words drifting back in the wind, such as “ripping you off,” and “rude,” and my favorite, “I have it all under control.”
While she finishes her call, I walk over to Roman, who’s plonked himself in the water, and kneel beside him. “Do you like it here?”
He looks up at me. “It’s fun. I like fishing. Can we go fishing?” I’ve fished a few times in life, not enough to consider myself an expert or anything, but enough to get by. “Dolly can show you how to fish. She’s good at it.”
Though I have no regrets spending time at the cottage with Summer, I could have done without the plumber interaction. “Guess I should have joined you two. I’d like to go fishing with you, buddy.”
“We can this summer. I can show you how to attach the gummy worm to the hook.”
My head bobs forward as my eyes pop wider. “You use gummy worms?”
“Dolly says it lures ’em right in and makes the fish sweeter to eat.”
Rubbing my hand over the scruff that’s growing over my jawline, I laugh. Dolly is quite the character. “I bet it does. Hey, so, the pipes aren’t fixed.”
“Do we get to sleep at Summer’s again?”
“Is that okay? It might be a few nights.”
“I like the swing.” His little shoulders bounce up. “And she’s nice. It’s okay with me if we stay there.” He moves a rock to draw a line in the sand beneath it with a stick. “Dad?”
Picking up a stone, I throw it into the ocean. “Yes?”
When he looks up again, he says, “You told me to never compromise my values.”
“I told you that when you were little. Impressed you remember.” He nods as a sense of pride rolls through me. “Do you know what it means?”
With his brown eyes staring into mine, he replies, “It means you don’t have to play nice—”
“Well, not exact—”
“Or be liked. You just have to play your best, play fair, and know you gave it your all.”
That’s hard to argue with on the heels of being told to compromise my values. I say, “You’ve given me a lot to think about, son.”
“Why is Summer upset?”