Prologue
EJ
Four years ago
This is my big shot.
It’s an adjustment being here, in this city, in this room.
Stockholm is by no means small, but the air is cleaner, the people are more grounded and everything is just…
more honest. Ever since I landed at JFK, I’ve been tossed into chaotic schedules, fake smiles, and transactional conversations.
This really is the city that never sleeps, that never calms down…
and apparently the city that always has an occasion to dress up and flaunt.
But when the General Manager of the New York Rangers calls and offers you a seven-year contract, you don’t say no. You pack your bags and you get on a plane. You don’t complain about having to fly thousands of miles away from your home, or the life you were building.
You don’t say no to the NHL.
It’s an opportunity you can’t give up. Not for anything.
Leaving my family behind wasn’t easy, not to mention leaving my best friend and teammate especially since he’s dating my little sister.
But I believe God works in ways we don’t understand.
We can’t see the bigger picture, and if He opened a door for me in New York, I’m going to take the God given opportunity.
I’m trusting that He’ll show me what He has for me… what He wants me to learn from this.
Perhaps it’s patience.
Perhaps it’s learning not to judge by appearance like the rest of this world seems to do.
It’s only cemented in the fact that I’m standing in a world famous museum, surrounded by some of the richest people in the city. All of them are decked out and I can honestly say that it looks like I fit in—from the outside at least.
I’m wearing a tailored suit and nursing a glass of overly expensive champagne while nodding along to an old man’s talk about stocks and bonds.
I have no idea what he’s talking about. The only thing I own is my 1968 Volvo.
That and a piece of land back in Sweden.
It’s all I want to own, because I intend to go back there and retire in the middle of nature as soon as I’m done living out my hockey dreams.
I don’t have a date, but then again, most of the guys on the team came stag. The PR people wants a few of us to be available to talk to the sponsors, to give them our undivided attention.
I’m a rookie, my first year on the team, I don’t get a say in it. I do what I’m told.
“You okay there, Johansson?” Declan Murphy asks, slapping me on the shoulder. “You look a little green?”
His Boston accent still throws me sometimes, as well as his tendency to look at women like they’re part of the buffet.
He’s a brilliant defenseman. First round draft pick, picked up by the Bruins his rookie year.
Harry traded for him, and he is actually one of the reasons the Rangers are worth rooting for again .
I clear my throat, relieved for the interruption, and excuse myself from the older man who gives me a practiced smile before turning away and finding someone else to talk to.
Declan just saved me from having to nod my way through a conversation about stock options when all I can offer are steak options.
“I have no idea what we’re supposed to do though, I can’t talk to these people,” I admit, hoping my new teammate can meet me here.
“You’re not alone,” Declan says, tugging on his tie like it might choke him. “I hate these things, but if Harry says ‘jump’, you ask ‘how high’. These old geezers are speaking a language I don’t understand.”
I chuckle at his side, relief flooding me. “If I hear one more word about inflation or stocks, I might have to fake a stomach bug or something.”
“Fake it?” Declan says, his dark eyes sparking with mischief. “I genuinely get nauseous. Besides, why do you think I only talk to the women?”
He might have a point. It doesn’t look like these women want to talk about finances. But then again, some of them have something in mind that I’m not going to entertain either.
“Speaking of,” Declan says, gesturing toward a woman with red hair and a dangerous smile. “I think I see someone who might need my attention. See you on the other side, Johansson.”
I watch as my teammate makes his way over to her, slipping smoothly into the conversation with a charming smile and glass of champagne. Further behind them, my gaze catches another teammate.
Dukowski. The newest star player of the New York Rangers.
When Harry Matlock became the GM a few years back, he started turning the roster around, building a better team.
He tried to sign Dukowski two years ago, but it didn’t work out.
It was all over sportsnews. But at the start of this season, Harry managed to steal him away from the Oilers with a massive contract.
Dukowski is with a woman too. Beautiful. Dark hair and even darker eyes. She’s wearing a green dress, one that fits perfectly. But there’s something about her that sets off a quiet alarm inside of me.
She clearly stands out from the rest of the women here—whether intentionally or not.
Apparently, Dukowski is not thinking straight.
She laughs, touching his arm and leaning in too close.
She gives him an inviting smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
Although, he’s not looking at her eyes anymore.
“Who’s that?” I ask my linemate, Lucas Walker as he heads toward me. He looks over his shoulder, recognition dawning on his face.
“That’s Harry’s daughter,” he says, while looking around the room. “We met her last year at some event. She’s not here a lot, I don’t think she lives in the States.”
I nod, unable to keep my eyes off the pair.
“Should we step in?” I ask, looking at Lucas to see if he’s as unsettled by the scene as I am. She’s the GM’s daughter, and Dukowski is the star player.
Their touches are quiet, but intentional. She shifts, putting her entire back on display. Along the length of her spine there’s a tattoo of a lily, large enough for everyone to see.
“I guess they’re two grown-ups,” Lucas says, still looking around the room with a slight frown between his eyes. “Where is Harry?”
I shrug, watching the pair make their way to the side entrance of the room. Whatever is waiting for them behind that door…it’s more than a polite conversation.
Setting my almost full glass of champagne down on a roaming waiter’s tray, I wonder if I’m cut out for this world. Women working the room like it’s their job, men flinging around their networth and status, like it’s all a well-rehearsed play.
I’m here to play hockey.
But as I watch the door close behind them, something stirs inside of me. Not jealousy. No, rather something reminding me of how easy it is to lose yourself and your purpose in a place like this.