CHAPTER SEVEN
GRIFFIN
“Keegan! You gonna be on the ice again this season?”
The voice of someone I don’t immediately recognize travels through the huge ice rink inside the Bayshore Rec Center. I spot the person about halfway down the row of benches facing the plexiglass barrier around the rink. I’m used to being recognized, especially here in Bayshore.
Even though I don’t know who they are, I wave and call out, “You know it. We’re gonna be league champs this year, just you wait.”
That response earns me a hoot and a thumbs up.
He’s unaware of the violent twist in my gut, or the way my mind immediately fixates on the upcoming draft.
Whether the Crushers general manager will renew my contract or not.
Or if I become a free agent, and potentially get picked up by another team, seeing my family even less than I do now because I live in who knows what corner of the US.
I have no control, and it’s fucking killing me.
But he doesn’t need to know about any of that. I’m just the pro hockey player, representing Bayshore. It’s a job I love. A job I want to continue doing for…hell, as long as I can.
I watch as the guy meanders out of the practice rink before I shift my gaze to the digital clock on the other wall.
It’s one p.m. on Friday, the first day of my youth hockey workshop, and I’m here excessively early to get in the zone.
I want to spend some time on the ice by myself, to really see where my knee is at.
I’m going to be chasing after these kids, which I tell myself is a valid reason to push myself slightly earlier than Dex’s recommendation. But dammit. I just need to know.
Will I make my return to the Crushers this year?
I tighten my laces one final time before I push out onto the ice. I’ve never been good at ceding control. Call it my fatal flaw, but I like to think that losing my dad at a young age could have fucked me up worse than turning me into a control freak.
Yes, I micromanaged the shit out of Piper’s life in general, especially when she lived with me. Up to and including punching Kru in the face for canoodling with her under my roof.
And yes, I might have invited Casey to be my roommate because I already can’t stand the idea that some new creep will fucking catcall her on an innocent walk through downtown Bayshore.
But this is who I am. A man who controls everything that he can. Which is why the one uncontrollable thing—August—is eating me alive.
The hiss of the steel blade slicing into the ice temporarily quiets my brain. I draw deep breaths as I let myself get lost in the cold, the glide, the focus.
And almost immediately, the twinge is there.
Fuck.
The injury tugs at me in the tight turns. It slows down my acceleration. And when I test the full sprint down the rink, the cold air tearing past my face, knee whining, I know I have to stop.
My heart is heavier than I want to acknowledge, so I busy myself doing nothing laps. Easy, low-impact loops that pass the time while I get my head right. Because those kids are going to be showing up soon, and I need to be ready.
By the time the doors start swinging open, I’ve mostly pulled myself out of my pity spiral. It quickly becomes evident that the first ones in are not children or even part of the workshop – they are bona fide Crushers fans who have come to cheer me on during the workshop.
“Keegan! Good to see you on the ice!” one calls out.
I skate up to the side where people are now filtering in. It looks like a mix of fans and parents and…my family, apparently. My big brother Dane comes in with Lia in tow, both of them waving.
“What’s up, brother?” Dane comes up to the boards, and we hug over the top. Then Lia wants a turn so Dane lifts her up, and I get a big hug of my squishy Lia.
“What are you guys doing here?” I ruffle Lia’s hair as Dane sets her back down. She’s hopping excitedly, looking around. “It’s Friday afternoon, I thought you’d be at work.”
“Lia had a doctor’s appointment so we came to cheer you on before we go get ice cream.”
“Wow. Nearly perfect afternoon.”
“Mom and Asher are coming too.”
I snort. “Guys. This is just a youth workshop. There’s no game happening.”
“I know,” Dane says, “but this is great, what you’re doing here with the kids. I just wanna support you.”
I’m touched more than I can say, a lump growing in my throat. I have the best family in the world, and I know it. Which makes the thought of a potential trade to a new team somewhere else in the country an even harder pill to swallow. “Man, you gunning for best brother of the year or something?”
“I’ll definitely beat out Jett, since he’s stuck fixing a car today.” Dane smiles softly as he looks out at the ice, his features reminding me so much of our Dad. “Asher’s the wild card. Can’t tell if he’ll pull ahead because he’s kind of been our stand-in dad.”
I laugh, squeezing Dane’s shoulder. “Well, that should mean that you win, because you were always willing to go bend the rules with me. Like toilet papering the Franklin house.” Dane had been the only brother willing to toilet paper my hockey rival’s house with me; even Jett, who loved to get into trouble—and still does—said no when I asked him.
But Dane was there with me, and I’m pretty sure Pat Franklin still hates me for it.
By now the students are arriving, and the stands are filling up. I direct the kids to the locker rooms, posing for a few pictures with parents while everyone’s getting their gear on.
Mom and Asher eventually show up, waving and pumping me up like this is a championship game instead of a skills clinic for kids. I appreciate the support more than I can express; it feels good knowing they’re here.
It just feels like someone’s missing.
Not Piper—I know she and Kru are busy with a private event today. No, I wish Casey could be here. This isn’t the type of thing I’d invite her to, especially when we’re just old friends. Hell, I wouldn’t even invite Branson to this.
But Casey has me wanting any spare second she has to offer. And I have to really push my thoughts of her out of my head as the kids begin filtering out onto the ice and the workshop begins.
The two hours pass quickly. The attendees go from scared and nervous to smiling and excited by the end.
It’s fulfilling to see the transformation that professional guidance can provide, and I’m looking forward to the full summer of classes.
The kids are all giving each other high-fives as they head for the locker room.
By the time I’m changed and leaving the rec center, it’s almost five. I’m starving and ready to focus on something that isn’t related to ice or my knee. So I text Branson.
GRIFFIN: What’s on ur agenda?
brANSON: Whatever you tell me. Where are we going tonight?
My fingers are tapping out a response before I can even make the decision.
GRIFFIN: Brews on the Bay.
brANSON: We gotta drive there though, let’s do something walkable. What about Hi-5s?
GRIFFIN: Brews
brANSON: Oh my god it’s because Casey started working there. Right.
I’m busted and I know it. But still, I try to save face.
GRIFFIN: No. They have the best happy hour.
brANSON: Oh sure. I’ll pretend I believe that. I’ll meet you there.
So Branson might be aware that I’m preoccupied whenever Casey is in the area. I don’t really care if he notices. I just wish Casey would notice…or give me some sort of sign that she wants more from me.
I thought we’d made progress the other night after Nightbeast, but she’s so funny and friendly with everyone it’s hard to know.
And now that I invited her to move in, I feel like I need to play it safe.
I don’t want her to think that I’m asking her to move in just for the sex potential.
I can keep my dick in my pants with a lifelong friend.
Besides, you’re forgetting the most important rule: no interruptions until you’re back on the ice.
It’s the one thing in my life I can control right now. And I’m going to control the fuck out of it.
I drive to Brews on the Bay, enjoying the bite of humidity of this early June evening.
Trees line the boulevard heading to the east end of town, and through the leaves I can see the sparkle of Briggs Bay in the evening light.
I’m more excited than I want to admit about showing up for Casey on her first day of work.
Branson’s pulling into the parking lot just as I step out of my truck, and he’s got our friend Derek with him as well.
We all exchange “whassup” and high fives, Derek and I do a chest bump because we think it’s funny, and then we make our way inside the bar.
All it takes is a couple steps and the door to swing shut behind us. The hootin’ and hollerin’ begins just as my eyes adjust to the mood lighting.
“Keegannnn!”
“Crushers Number One! Crushers Number One!”
I smile and dole out high fives as we wind through the high-ceilinged dining room, heading for the huge bar in the middle of the establishment.
There are more than a few hockey fans snagging my attention.
This is par for the course—I get recognized almost everywhere in Bayshore, and I don’t mind it a bit.
Right now, however, I couldn’t care less about the hockey fans in here.
My gaze zeroes in on the golden brunette behind the bar, wearing a low-cut black blouse with smart black capris.
Her hair is pulled up into a high, smooth ponytail that I’d gladly tug if I could get within arm’s reach.
She’s holding a small white bar towel in her hands, twisting it between her hands as she reads something a colleague is showing her.
“Should we get a table?” Derek asks, pausing en route to the bar. “I wanna get wings and I need space for the mess. My mess space.”
“Bar.” I say it like it’s not a question, because now that I’ve got my eyes on Casey, I need to be as close as possible.
“Casey’s here,” Branson explains to Derek, which earns him a punch in the side from me.