Chapter Thirty-Nine Choices #2
Looking around, I wouldn’t exactly call this place a diner.
It’s a Michelin-star restaurant masquerading as a diner.
Not like the place we go to get burgers back in Denver.
That place is warm, comfortable, and lived in.
This place makes me feel on edge…Like I need to be careful of what I touch or where I step so I don’t accidentally break something.
Coach Williams is wearing a tailored navy suit that probably costs more than my truck.
A thick gold championship ring on his finger catches the light as he takes a sip of coffee.
I have one too, but I don’t go wearing it around like a regular piece of jewelry.
When he spots me, he gives me a smile that is more calculating than friendly. That doesn’t exactly surprise me.
“Julian,” he declares as he stands up to shake my hand. “I’m glad we could finally arrange this follow-up. My assistant, Stetson, who just walked out, was dropping off a copy of the contract.”
When he lets me go, I slide into the booth opposite him, keeping my posture rigid, my hands flat on the table. “Coach Williams, nice to see you again.”
“So, you’ve had a chance to look over the paperwork,” Williams says, leaning forward, resting his forearms on the white tablecloth.
“As you know, we’ve already cleared the cap space for a mid-season transfer.
If you sign the intent today, our legal teams can have the paperwork finalized before the holiday weekend is over.
You can be in an Ironclad sweater by next Friday.
We’ll handle the relocation; we’ll handle your apartment downtown, everything. We take care of our own here, Julian.”
I regard Williams for a few moments in silence. Before Hadley, this deal would have been my holy grail. It would have meant safety, money, stability, and the chance to be close to the only woman who ever loved me like a son. It would have meant securing a future while I still have time to do so.
But as I stare at it now, all I can see is Hadley.
I see her standing in her kitchen, watching me cook for her. I see her falling asleep in my arms. I see the fierceness in her eyes when she told me last night that my past wasn't my fault, and that she wasn't going anywhere.
If I sign this paper, I forfeit the right to see any of that again.
To see her again. To be part of her life and keep her in mine.
The mere thought has my stomach twisting so violently, for a moment, I think I might be sick.
Mrs. Clay is right. I need to fight for what I want and stop being such a coward.
If I let my past dictate my future, then it wins.
Hadley is right. What my mom, my dad, and my brother all did is not my fault.
So why do I keep allowing them to define me? Mrs. Clay didn't.
In an instant, I know what I have to do. What I want to do.
Slowly, I take the leather folder and slide it back across the white tablecloth.
“I appreciate the offer, Coach Williams,” I reply, my voice steady and polite. “And I’m honored that your organization wants me, but I’ve changed my mind. I’m staying in Denver.”
The entire mood in the booth shifts in a second.
The smooth smile on Williams’s face freezes, his eyes narrowing into two sharp slits. The warmth vanishes from the table.
He sets his glass down. “Excuse me?”
“I’m staying with the Night Hawks,” I repeat, locking my gaze with his. “The transfer is off. I’m not signing. I apologize for taking up your time, but this is the right call for me.”
Williams lets out a short, dry laugh, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms. “Let’s not be hasty, Wilder.
If this is a negotiation tactic for more money, just say the word.
We have wiggle room on the performance bonuses.
Don’t throw away an opportunity to come home over a few hundred thousand dollars. ”
“It’s not about the money,” I assure him. “It’s a personal decision. My life is in Denver right now. My team is there. I’m finishing my contract with the Night Hawks.”
Williams’s jaw tightens, a flush of dark crimson creeping up his neck.
He clearly isn't used to hearing the word no. He leans forward again, his voice dropping into a harsh whisper. “Is this really about hockey, Wilder? Because let’s be real here. You’re twenty-seven.
Your knees aren’t getting any younger. You’re one bad hit away from the end of your career, and you’re turning down a guaranteed four-year safety net in your hometown?
What the hell are you playing at? Is there something else keeping you in Colorado? ”
I feel a defensive spark flash in my chest, but I force it down and keep my tone even. “Like I said, Mr. Williams. It’s a personal decision.”
There’s a moment of silence before Williams gives the top of the table a sharp smack.
He stands up, buttons his suit jacket, and looks down at me with a glare.
“You’re making a massive mistake, Wilder,” he snaps.
“The hockey world is incredibly small, son. Management talks. If you think the Night Hawks are going to protect you forever just because you’re a decent defenseman, you’re delusional.
When you’re sitting on the bench next season watching your minutes dry up, remember this breakfast. Enjoy Denver while it lasts. ”
He turns on his heel and marches out of the diner, leaving the check on the table.
I sit alone in the booth for a long minute, the echo of his threat hanging in the air.
My heart is pounding, the old, familiar panic of financial ruin trying to claw its way up my throat.
But as I draw in a deep breath, the panic doesn't stick.
I feel at peace with my choice. This is exactly what I want.
On my way back to Mrs. Clay’s, I pull the Toyota Corolla up to a grocery store and spend twenty minutes walking the aisles, picking out fresh eggs, thick-cut bacon, a loaf of sourdough bread, and a carton of orange juice.
I want to make Hadley and Mrs. Clay breakfast. My hands are steady as I pay the cashier.
When I finally pull back up to Mrs. Clay’s house, I grab the grocery bags from the seat and walk up the steps, pushing the front door open with my elbow.
Entering the living room, the sight that greets me hits my chest with a wave of pure, unfiltered warmth.
Hadley is awake. She’s curled up on the far end of the worn sofa, her legs tucked under her, wearing a soft, oversized green sweatshirt.
She has a mug of coffee cradled in her hands.
Sitting right next to her, wrapped in her knit shawl, is Mrs. Clay.
The two of them are watching some old black-and-white movie, their heads tilted toward each other.
The front door clicking shut makes them both look up.
Hadley’s face lights up when she sees me, a bright smile blooming across her lips. She sets her mug on the coffee table and stretches her arms out.
“Hey,” she greets, her voice soft and sweet, still carrying the faint, raspy edge of sleep. “Did you have a good morning? Is everything alright?”
I stand there in the archway of the living room, the grocery bags hanging from my hands, staring at her. I look at the way the light catches the strands of her hair, and I think about the contract I just walked away from.
I have absolutely no regrets.
“Yeah,” I rumble, my voice thick with emotion. “Yeah, sweetheart. Everything is perfect.”
Mrs. Clay looks up at me then. She takes in the grocery bags, then studies my face for a moment before a triumphant smirk curls her lips. She gives me an imperceptible nod before turning her attention back to the television screen.
I walk into the kitchen, dropping the bags on the counter. I don't know what tomorrow looks like, and I don't know how I’m going to navigate the boundary of Hadley’s grandfather being my head coach.
It doesn’t matter. I’ll fucking figure it out.
Somewhere along the way, I fell in love with her.
I’ve spent my whole life running from the dark, waiting for the world to take everything away from me, but I’m not running anymore. I’ve chosen her, and any obstacles that are in our way don’t stand a fucking chance.