Chapter 28
DANIEL
THREE WEEKS LATER . . .
“What the fuck are you doing out there?” I punch the air, imagining it’s his face. Cupping my hand to the side of my mouth, I shout, “What the fuck kind of play was that, Landers?”
Shredding ice, he skids to a stop in front of me. “It’s called hockey, old man.” He pounds his fist twice on top of the wall, tempting me to jump over that wall and show him how the pros play. “Guess that’s why you’re on the bench, and I’m out here.”
“Listen up, fucker. Hockey requires you actually make contact with the puck, not skate by it like you’re still in PeeWee league.”
“It’s not 1985, Maverick. You need to get yourself some glasses.”
I’m yanked backward before I lunge over that small wall he thinks is protecting him. Two players pull me back as I shout, “Say that to my fucking face.”
“I just did.” He laughs, skating off.
A slow clap echoing from the tunnel has me looking over to see what shit is about to be thrown my way.
I pull my arms free and sit on the goalie’s seat because I’m sure as shit not going to greet whoever it is after that entrance.
“Old man? Ha! Good one.” Coach rounds the corner into our bench. “It’s rough out there, Sutton.”
He’s not wrong. This next generation of players is something else, the little fuckers. If I’d had the talent of some of these guys, my early years would have gone a lot smoother. “Coming to check on us, Coach?”
“Nope. But looks like I should have before now.” He cuts down the back of the bench to stand next to me. Arms crossed, looking all business, he keeps his indifference on his face as he watches the players on the ice. He’s always been hard to read unless you anger him. “Any talent?”
“As much as it hurts my hockey soul to say this . . .” I shake my head, but I won’t keep real talent down. “Landers is a good fucking player. He’s also a shit human.”
He chuckles. “Takes one to know one, huh?”
“Funny.” I chuckle. He’s not entirely wrong, though. I was a bastard before I met Summer, and with our schedules keeping us busy and apart, the role fits like a glove again.
Coach has never been much of a conversationalist unless he’s drinking, and then you can’t get him to shut up. His gaze is too distant, his mind not on the players on the ice or the bench. So I take a guess, “What did you really come down here to talk about?”
Pointing up at the second-level seats in the barn, he wags his finger. “I’ve spent quite a bit of time up there watching you this past week.”
“I didn’t know I was being spied on.”
“I like to see players in their natural habitat.”
Snapping, I point at the rink. “My habitat is out there, not here on the bench.”
He nods, looking down at his shoes like they’ve changed feet. “But I will say . . .” He looks at me again. “You’re not terrible. Your delivery needs some work, but the guys respect you, Landers excluded—”
“Fuck him.”
Laughing, he says, “I’ve seen some of their games improve.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I stand like a proud papa, mentally patting my own back. “I only made some suggestions and tweaked a few things. Landers is hardheaded, so not much progress there, but . . .” I shrug. “I was just making suggestions to do it, not that he needs my opinion.”
“Sure, he does. He’s listening. I’ve seen adjustments he’s making when you’re not looking. The coaches have been watching playbacks.”
“If you’re trying to woo me into coaching, I’m not done on the ice yet.”
He pats me on the shoulder. It’s nice not having to be the one to do it all the time. “When you are, let’s talk.”
I’ve never thought about coaching. I didn’t have to because I was playing well. Am I still playing my best? Fuck yes, I am. But it’s been interesting to be included in the development of other players.
As the players take the ice, Coach takes the spot where he stands during games and watches. The players swap without me having to direct their every move. Nice change from me telling them to pay attention, learn how the pros play, and learn the cues. They have a coach, not a babysitter.
His eyes stay on the play ahead when he asks, “How’s the relationship, Sutton?”
It’s a loaded question, not for him to ask, but for me, since a war has been waging in my chest. I was doing okay the first week; calls and videos were working.
It’s gotten worse over the past two weeks.
Hanging up feels bittersweet—glad I heard her voice or saw her face, but the loneliness after is consuming my nights.
“Good.” Generic is best.
Looking me over, he asks, “Good?”
“Yeah.” I shrug like he’s not seeing right through me. “Good.”
His eyes return to the ice. “Where is she located again? Ashford?”
“Mountain Laurel Cove,” I reply, following Crosby toward the goal. “Ah, fuck.” I clap. “Good play.”
He claps. “That’s right,” he says, picking up where he left off. “Mary and I went there once.”
“Mary’s the one who found the rental for me.”
“My wife was sad we didn’t get to meet her at the party.”
Telling that story isn’t going to land like it did that day, so I don’t bother. “Next time.”
“You know.” Here we go . . . “Mary has gotten into some new age stuff, manifestations, and that kind of thing. She fully believes she helped us make the playoffs last time.” He chuckles to himself, peering at me out of the corner of his eye.
“Are you going somewhere specific with this, Coach?”
“I’ve seen a change in you. When you get on the ice to show the guys a skill, you’re keeping the aggression on the move and the puck, focused on scoring, not on the other players on your team.
” I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of smiling, but it has been fun.
“Can you admit that maybe spending time with young talent isn’t so bad? ”
“It’s not so bad.” I’ve poured my energy into this scouting program. The nights suck without Summer, but the days keep my mind occupied and off what she might be doing.
“Let’s remember this talk when preseason kicks off in September, and there are new guys on the team.
” His eyes swerve with the players on the ice.
“Come on, Landers. What the hell are you doing out there?” He looks back at me.
“You’re right. He’s good. But like you, he needs to learn that it’s a team game.
Not a solo sport. We’re pulling him up from the minors and offering him a contract next week. ”
“His life is about to change forever.” I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing anymore.
Having all the money I could dream of didn’t fix my past, but it changed my future.
That sky-blue dress and matching eyes, white sneakers, tanned legs, and a smile that knocked me on my ass.
My future comes into focus from the mere mention of it.
“It is. Speaking of, are you ready for your meeting tomorrow?”
“I know what I want, and I know what I’m worth. I’m bringing my attorney to make sure they’re ready to meet the demands.”
Shaking his head, he looks down. “I’ll put in a good word.
You’ve done a good job helping me build the next championship team.
Good luck, man.” When he glances at me again, I can see the approval in his eyes.
He can make jokes about me being a shit human only because we share a level of respect between us.
Waving two fingers, I say, “Thanks.”
He slips out when I’m talking to Crosby about not letting Landers cut him out of his position. I glance at the tunnel, then up at the seats where he was watching, and scoff with a grin on my face.
“I got the money,” Summer says.
“That’s good.” I’m left in an awkward state of trying to sound happy for her benefit while hoping not to fall apart for mine.
She didn’t want to video, claiming she looked terrible and that’s not how she wants me to see her. But I hear the sadness in her tone even when she should be excited about tomorrow.
If I ask about it, she just says she misses me is all.
Same.
How did meeting her and one month flip my world inside out and upside down?
I miss her so fucking much that I swear I can still feel her in my bed next to me, only to reach over and find it empty.
Her laughter follows me down the hallway.
When I turn back, ready to pull her into my arms, she’s not there.
And sometimes I sit out on the patio just because I know we’re sharing the same fresh air.
I drop my head and wrap my arms over it.
“Daniel?” she says, a wisp of a voice calling my name. “Thank you.”
I fall back on the couch and stare at the TV with playbacks of the week on the large screen. “Tomorrow at this time, you’ll have everything you ever wanted, Sunshine.”
“Everything I ever wanted.” The giggle I expect doesn’t come, not talking a million miles an hour about nothing and everything that crosses her mind. No smile is heard in her words.
Melancholy is choking this relationship to death, and the distance is harder to manage than I thought. There’s no draw to other women. There’s no draw to anything. Even hockey isn’t as entertaining when we’re apart, and it’s not something we did together.
“Are you ready to take on big money corporations tomorrow?”
That earned me the lightest of laughs. “As ready as I can be. These past few weeks, I’ve done a ton of research. I’m hoping the extra mile of protecting our town, and that land, stewarding it for growth in the right way, will win her over. Did I tell you it’s a blind bid?”
“What does that mean? You have to submit without knowing what the other guy’s offer is?”
“Yep. She claims it makes you put in your best offer. So maybe preserving the history of the area will tip the bid in my direction if I’m under.”
“She’s a fool if she doesn’t sell it to you. Fuck.” I sit up, too anxious watching these players to kick back.
“What?”
“Playbacks for the training.”
“Oh . . . I should let you go so you can watch without interruption.”
“Hey Summer, you’re not interrupting. I don’t have much going on or to say when we talk at night lately because I’m not doing anything you’d find interesting.”
“I find everything you do interesting, but you don’t seem to want to share anymore.”
She knows how to make a guy feel good. “Hearing your voice gets me through the night and another day knowing I get to hear you again the next.”
“I feel the same way. I’m a ghost in my life haunting where I kiss you or we made love, when you smacked my ass, or fed me hot dogs on the big deck. Everything is a memory instead of living life like we used to. I hate it.”
Her pout at the end leaves me smiling. “I hate it too.” Rubbing the bridge of my nose, I try to ease into the next conversation, knowing it won’t be getting better anytime soon. “We need to figure this out. Once I’m on the road . . .”
“I know we need to talk about it, but can we do that when we’re together instead of however many hours we’re apart?”
I can’t fully follow her line of reasoning, but I’d do anything for her, including saying yes if it will make her feel better. “We can talk about it another time. Together.”
“Daniel?” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “I hope you also get everything you want. Good luck tomorrow.”
Nodding to an apartment that doesn’t have her scent on the sheets anymore or her dress on the floor of the entry, only her absence from my arms, I swallow. “Good luck tomorrow. I love you, Summer.”
Summer is with me.
The signs are everywhere this morning as I make my way to The Breakaways’ franchise offices. Blue in the sky and on a dress displayed in a store window. Golden sunshine strikes my eyes when I round the corner. A sign above a swimsuit shop that reads “Are you ready for Summer Season?”
So fucking ready.
I meet the attorneys in the lobby, and we ride the elevators up together. We’re led down the hall to the large conference room. The assistant opens the door, and announces, “Mr. Sutton is here for the meeting.”
As soon as I’m seated, the door is closed, and we begin the negotiations.