Sadie The Key to Everything
Sadie
The Key to Everything
This week has been nothing short of hellacious for so many reasons, but coupling the disappointment on my mom’s face when I said I couldn’t stay for dinner with the absolute devastation knowing that I may never see Max again has been a lot.
To say I’m struggling would be a gross understatement.
I’m drowning, completely submerged in paperwork that’s all wrapped up in a bow that screams pathetic.
And don’t get me started on Beth’s book.
As I turn to slap my alarm for what feels like the twelfth time this morning, I find it perched exactly where it is every morning—spread open to the next clue with a pencil floating mid-air above it on my dresser.
Tossing the covers off, I rub my eyes, trying to pull myself out of my stupor.
Levi, Alex, and I were at the arena until well past midnight, putting the final documents together for the lawyers.
As suspected, I was able to find both physical and digital proof of every payment received and every donation made.
The reporter—and the too big for her britches mom—will be able to stick their exposé where the sun doesn’t shine around noon.
The only thing left to do is sit down with Mr. Bennedito, the Flames’ in-house counsel, then it’s business as usual. In other words, I’ll be sorting through the thousands of emails waiting to be answered from prospective spotlight players and gala vendors.
Shuffling to the kitchen, I roll my eyes at the mess I’m pretty sure I noticed last night but chose to ignore. Mae was cooking again, which means there’s a pile of dishes so high I’ll be lucky to fit the coffeepot under the faucet for a quick rinse.
"Hey." The offending chef waltzes into the kitchen in a neon orange bathrobe and pink bunny slippers. "Sorry about the mess. I’ll clean it when I wake up."
Glancing at the time on the microwave clock, my mind twists in confusion.
"It’s 7:00… in the morning."
"And?" Mae looks as confused as I feel.
"Are you sleepwalking?" I do my best to push the coffeepot under the faucet, only bumping a few plates as I do.
"No? Is that something I normally do?"
Spinning, I place the semi-clean pot onto the hot plate and dump just enough grounds to fuel me through another long day into the mesh holder at the top. Pressing the on button, I lean against the counter.
"I don’t think so? But it’s not nighttime, so… nevermind."
Having this discussion with her isn’t worth the energy.
Now that I’m pretty sure things are good to go with the whole debacle at work, I plan to drink a cup of coffee, attempt to finish the puzzle book so it’ll stop taunting me, and ready myself for the day.
Whatever Mae does has nothing to do with me.
When the drip stops, I pour a cup of black coffee and make my way back into the solace of my room. Mae stared at me confused for a few minutes before falling onto the couch and promptly beginning to snore. I’m starting to think I might need a new roommate or, better yet, no roommate at all.
A pang sinks into my stomach—Max would’ve been the perfect person to live with. I could’ve had Benny snuggles—and Max snuggles—any time I wanted. I miss him so much it hurts, but I think I’ve been too busy this week to really realize just how much.
Grabbing the book and pencil from my dresser as I pass, I set my coffee on my nightstand and slip back under the covers. As I thumb through the last two clues, a guilty feeling gnaws at me. The entire premise of this book was to do it with someone, to do it with him. I scan the next clue:
2. Down
An agreement between friends.
The answer is crystal clear—understanding.
Probably because it’s a word I’ve turned over in my mind several times over the last week.
Max was understanding, my family not so much.
They were happy that I had my job back but sad that I had to run out.
Howie texted me a few times, mad at first that I left without a goodbye, then sad for me with an undercurrent of pity that feels like more than I can stomach right now.
My phone buzzes on the bed beside me, Mal’s name illuminating the screen.
"Hey," I answer.
"She’s alive!" my sister shouts loudly, and I rip the phone from my ear, smashing the speaker button.
"Jesus… if I wasn’t that would’ve woken me from the tomb."
She giggles. "Oh, sorry, I just wanted Mom to know you actually answered." I can hear a door open and close in the background as the faint sound of the girls playing drifts away. "How are you? What’s going on?"
I gave my mom a brief play-by-play as I stuffed my belongings into my suitcase and ran out the door to head back to Golden City, but other than that, our conversations have been limited.
"I’m surviving. The stuff with work should be done today."
"And Max?"
I release a slow breath. "He’s moving… tomorrow, I think." My voice cracks on the last word.
"Sade, have you considered that maybe you’re supposed to be together?"
"Mallory, don’t." Of course, I’ve thought about it. My entire drive to Golden City was spent with tears running down my face, and I haven’t slept well in almost a week. But it’s not possible.
"I’m just saying, sometimes instead of doing what your brain tells you, maybe you need to listen to your heart." She sucks in a breath noisily. "Maybe that was what Beth was trying to tell you."
I stare at the book lying on my lap, and memories from the past month hit me. Every page of this thing is directly linked to him—every memory tied to our time together. In the end, it may have just been busywork—a distraction from my problems—but it brought me closer to him.
"In a perfect world, you’d probably be right." I close the book on my lap, running my hand over it thoughtfully before tossing it aside. "But he deserves this opportunity. I can’t take it away from him."
"Then go with him! Get your head out of your ass, Sadie. I’ve never seen you happier, more alive than when you were with him."
Tears streak down my face at her words. There’s only one problem with what she’s suggesting.
"He didn’t ask me to."
6 Hours Earlier
"Thanks for coming back." Levi holds the door to the conference room open for me, and I step around him into the hallway. "We never would have found everything you did."
Nodding, I smile softly at him and Alex. "Of course, I love my job. I’m grateful I was able to help."
"How did he take it?" Alex asks, sympathy etched into her expression.
"Uh…" I blow out a heavy breath, then bite the inside of my cheek to stave off any chance of getting emotional. "It was fine. We both knew what it was."
"Are you sure? I saw the way he looked at y—"
"I’m sure." My face heats and a lump forms in my throat. "I’m just going to take a walk. I’ll be in my office if you need anything."
I turn and leave, walking away from them as quickly as I can without it being obvious that I’m running off to cry alone. Winding around the arena, I slink into one of the suites. It’s dark but secluded enough that no one will find me here.
There are a couple of stuffed leather chairs, and I curl into one of them, bringing my knees to my chest. Looking down at the glossy ice, I feel small compared to what we do here. Insignificant.
How long has it been this way?
Maybe this is how I’ve always felt—maybe this is the reason I’ve worked so hard to get where I’m at, why I’ve sacrificed everything.
I’ve always thought that if I could just make a name for myself—if I could be successful—then everything else would fall into place.
But that’s not true. None of it matters when you’re alone. That’s what Levi wanted me to learn.
I’m not sure what makes me move, but the realization that this wasn’t all for nothing sparks something inside me. There’s a lot that has happened, some things I can’t take back or change. But for the first time in days, I feel the fog beginning to lift.
Exiting the suite, I turn in the direction of my office.
I’ve walked the halls here millions of times, and I’m pretty sure I could find it blindfolded and three sheets to the wind at this point.
But, for some reason, I spend my time really soaking it all in, from the pictures on the walls to the fresh coat of paint that must’ve been done recently.
I pass the coaches' offices, the locker rooms, and the shooting bay.
The social media director's office is up ahead, followed by mine and Alex’s directly across.
Light seeps out from under her door—they are either just as bad as I am at work-life balance or she forgot to turn it off.
Shaking my head, I approach the door and raise my fist to knock. But my eye catches on the handle of the door next to hers.
What the fuck?
Dangling from the round silver knob—jammed into the lock—is the keychain. I glance both ways down the hall, checking my surroundings before bending down to look at it. The keychain is the same flat diamond shape, and when I turn it over, it’s got the same inscription: JBI.
I take a step back, moving until my spine crashes into the wall behind me. My breathing is ragged, and my heart races. Slinking to the floor, I press the palms of my hands into my eye sockets.
You’re making this up. You’ve had very little sleep, and this is just a mirage.
Taking a deep breath, I blow it out slowly, attempting to calm myself down.
Uncovering my eyes, I stare at the door as if that will somehow tell me what the fuck is going on.
But when I do, my vision catches on a small silver nameplate fastened to the wall.
It looks just like mine and all the others.
Springing up, I take two steps back toward the door and read it: Johan Berg-Isaksson.
Who the hell is that?