CHAPTER FOUR #2
"We don't. I'm just here to grab files from my office." He gestured at his tablet. "But since you're here… got a minute?"
The casual tone didn't fool me. This was business. I grabbed my water bottle. "How bad is it?"
Nathan's smile faded slightly. "You want the sanitized version or the truth?"
"Truth."
He pulled up something on his tablet, then seemed to think better of it and set it aside.
"ESPN ran a twelve-minute segment last night.
Three sponsors have pulled out. Two more are waiting to see how the next few weeks go.
" He ran a hand through his hair. "But honestly?
It could be worse. The community service angle is helping. People like a redemption story."
I grunted. "That's what I am now? A redemption story?"
"You're whatever we can sell to keep this team funded." He said it matter-of-factly, but not unkindly. "Look, I know that sounds cynical, but that's my job. Your job is to show up, do the work, and prove everyone wrong."
I sat on the bench, suddenly exhausted despite the workout. "And if I can't?"
Nathan was quiet for a moment, then sat down beside me. "Can I be honest? Off the record?"
"Sure."
"I've worked with a lot of athletes. The ones who make it back aren't necessarily the most talented.
They're the ones who actually want to change.
" He casually picked up his coffee and took a long drink.
"You're showing up for therapy. You're doing your community service without leaking complaints to the press.
That tells me you're serious about this. "
I raised an eyebrow. "That I'm desperate?"
"That you're trying." He stood, grabbing his tablet again. "Which is more than a lot of guys in your position would do. So keep trying. I'll handle the media circus."
"Thanks, Nathan."
"Don't thank me yet. I'm about to ask you to do a rehabilitation interview in two weeks." He grinned tiredly. "But we'll worry about that later. Right now, just focus on the clinic. Show people you're more than one bad moment."
He headed for the door, then paused. "Oh, and Easton? Maybe avoid the gym during peak hours. The less the media knows about your routine, the better. Plus…" he gestured at his coffee, "… I can't handle another paparazzi situation before I've had at least six of these."
The door swung shut behind him, leaving me alone with the weights and the echo of his words.
Show people you're more than one bad moment.
Yeah. That was the goal, wasn't it?
I was twenty minutes into a punishing cardio routine when Beck arrived, gym bag slung over one shoulder, looking disgustingly well-rested for someone who'd probably been out late with more than one woman.
"Henley." He dropped his bag on the bench. "I didn't know you were allowed back in the building."
"Gray area. Technically suspended from team activities, but the gym's attached." I wiped sweat from my face. "What are you doing here?"
"Couldn't sleep. Figured I'd get a head start." He started stretching, eyeing me carefully. "How you holding up?"
"Still standing."
"Uh-huh. That's what you said three weeks ago before you nearly killed that reporter."
I shot him a look. "I'm working on it, Beck."
"Right. And I'm the next Gretzky." He finished his stretch and moved to the weights. "Seriously though, you doing okay? Nathan just left looking more stressed than usual, which is saying something."
"He was updating me about the sponsor situation."
"Ah." Beck nodded knowingly. "How bad?"
"Three gone, two more deciding." I grabbed a towel. "But I'm handling it."
“By hiding in the gym at six AM?"
"By doing what I'm supposed to do. Therapy, community service, staying out of trouble." I grabbed my water bottle.
Beck's expression shifted, something almost mischievous crossing his face. "The vet clinic? With the court-ordered service?"
"Yeah."
"How's that going? Weird cleaning cages and stuff?"
"Better than I expected. Helped with an emergency the other day. Sick puppies with parvo. I felt useful for once." I took a long drink of water.
"And the vet?" Beck asked too casually. "The one running the place?"
I kept my expression neutral. "What about her?"
"Is she cool? Nice? Is she," he grinned, "hot?"
I rolled my eyes. "Beck."
"What? It's a valid question." He loaded weights onto the bar. "If you're going to spend two hundred hours somewhere, at least it should be with good scenery."
"She's…" I trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence. Beautiful didn't cover it. Smart, focused, competent in a way that both drew me in and made me wary. "I knew her a long time ago. She’s a friend of Holly’s. She's different now. Harder. Like life beat her up a bit."
"Join the club." Beck raised his water bottle. "To complicated situations and not fucking everything up."
I clinked my bottle against his, even though I wasn't sure not fucking everything up was possible for me anymore.
"You know what, though?" Beck said, settling onto the bench for his first set. "Maybe this community service thing is good. Gets you out of your head. Away from all the hockey drama."
"Maybe," I admitted.
"And who knows?" Beck grinned as he lifted. "Maybe you'll learn something useful. Like how to keep a goldfish alive. You killed three of those in college."
"That was your fault for putting them in my room."
"Details." He finished his set, breathing hard. "Point is, you're doing something different. That's not a bad thing."
Maybe Beck was right.
And maybe I could prove everyone wrong, starting with myself.
The week crawled by with agonizing slowness.
I wasn't cleared to practice with the team, couldn't participate in games, couldn't even show my face at the arena without setting off a media frenzy.
So, I stayed home, worked out in my private gym, and tried not to think about how my career was slipping away.
On Wednesday, my phone rang.
Holly.
"Hey, stranger," she said when I answered. "Are you avoiding me?"
"No, just… dealing with stuff."
"Uh-huh. Well, I'm coming over. And I'm bringing Thai food, so don't even think about telling me no."
Forty minutes later, my little sister sat cross-legged on my couch, containers of Pad Thai and green curry spread across the coffee table. She'd always had a way of making herself at home anywhere, a skill I'd never mastered.
"So," she said, loading her plate with noodles. "How's the clinic?"
I shrugged, picking at my curry. "Better than jail."
"That's not very descriptive." She gave me that look where her eyebrows rose almost to her hairline. "How was it seeing Palisade again?"
The question hung in the air. I'd known it was coming, but that didn't make it easier to answer.
"Awkward," I admitted. "At first. Then we had an emergency with some sick puppies, and we just… worked together. Like it was natural."
Holly studied me carefully. "And? Did the two of you talk about what happened?"
"Seven years ago?" I set down my fork. "Sort of. I asked why she left, and she didn't answer."
"Easton…" Holly spoke slowly, like she was choosing each word carefully. "You have to understand, Palisade was terrified that night. You were this rising hockey star, fresh off a championship win. She was a pre-vet student from a small town who'd never even…" She stopped herself.
"Never what?"
Her eyebrows lowered. "Nothing." She took a breath. "I mean, she wasn't in your league. She knew it. And she convinced herself that leaving before you could reject her was the smart thing to do."
The words hit like a punch to the gut. "I wasn't going to reject her.
I had plans, Hol. I was going to call her after I got back from the away game and take her to dinner.
Hell, I'd already bought her a bracelet.
" I laughed bitterly. "Left it on the nightstand so she could see it when she woke up.
Except she didn't wake up there. She left. "
Holly's expression softened. "You never told me that."
"Because it was humiliating. I'd spent one night with someone who meant something to me, and she couldn't get away fast enough." I ran a hand through my hair. "I moved on. Or tried to. And now she's back, and I don't know what to do with that."
"There's something else you should know," Holly said slowly, setting down her plate. "About Palisade."
The shift in her tone made me look up. "What?"
She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "She has a daughter. Casey. She's six."
The information took a moment to process. Six years old. Palisade had been pregnant, or gotten pregnant shortly after our night, and…
"Good for her," I managed, though the words felt hollow. Something nagged at me, but I couldn't figure out what it was. "She moved on. Found someone. Started a family."
"Easton—"
"I'm happy for her, Holly. Really." I stood up suddenly, needing to move. "She built a life. That's great."
My sister watched me pace, something unreadable in her eyes. "Is it? Great?"
"What do you want me to say?" I turned to face her. "That it bothers me? Knowing she moved on with someone else while I was still…" I cut myself off. "It doesn't matter. It was one night. Seven years ago. We barely knew each other."
"You remembered her for seven years," Holly pointed out gently. "That has to mean something."
I sank back onto the couch, suddenly exhausted.
"It means I'm an idiot who can't let go of things.
It means I've been hung up on someone who clearly wasn't hung up on me.
" I looked at my sister. "She has a kid, Hol.
A family. And I'm the guy who cleans kennels at her clinic because a judge said I had to. "
Holly opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, then closed it. She looked like she was at war with herself, her expression pained.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing. I just…" She shook her head. "For what it's worth, I think working at the clinic could be good for you. Not just because of the court order, but because… you need something outside of hockey. Something that reminds you who you are when you're not on the ice."
"And who's that?" I asked, only half-joking.
"I guess you'll have to figure that out." She stood, gathering the empty containers. "Try to keep an open mind, okay? About the clinic. About Palisade. About all of it."
After she left, I stood at the window, staring out at the city. Palisade had a daughter. A six-year-old daughter. She'd moved on, built a life, become a mother.
One night with her was burned into my mind, and I couldn't forget it.
The irony wasn't lost on me.
I pulled out Dr. Reyes's card, reading the words again. Stop, breathe, observe, proceed.
Confused. Disappointed. A strange sense of loss for something I'd never had. But underneath it all was something else.
Curiosity, maybe. Or hope.
Tomorrow I'd go back to the clinic. I'd clean kennels and feed animals and work alongside a woman who'd once meant something to me.
A woman who had a daughter, a life, a world that didn't include me.
And maybe that would be enough to let go.
Either way, there was no going back now.
I opened the journal and wrote an entry.
Today I found out Palisade has a daughter. I should be happy for her. Instead, I feel empty. Like I missed something important, but I don't know what.
Maybe Dr. Reyes is right. Maybe I don't know who I am without hockey.
Without anger.
Without my father's ghost telling me I'm never good enough.
Tomorrow I'll start figuring it out.