Chapter 49
Chapter Forty-Nine
Brody
“So, did you officially tell your agent yet?” Liam asked as we strolled through Boston Common.
It was the kind of gray, drizzly morning that made you realize New England winters held on kicking and screaming before spring reluctantly forced its way in.
“I told him,” I said, hands shoved in the pocket of my hoodie to keep from freezing. Despite growing up with Michigan winters, I had never quite gotten used to the cold.
I hadn’t entirely dressed for the weather when I invited Liam to come walk with me. And infuriatingly enough, despite Liam being dressed similarly in jeans and a hoodie, he looked unfazed by the forty-degree weather.
Plus, the fact that it was so early in the morning didn’t help matters much. But that was Liam’s condition to avoid being approached by fans the way we would if we were out any later in the day.
“And?” Liam pressed for more information.
I grimaced.
“He was less than pleased by the news.”
“Meaning, he was completely pissed?”
“To put it lightly.”
“Can you blame him?” Liam asked. “You’re one of the greats. It’ll be a huge loss for Boston to see you go.”
“Captain Liam Brynn calling me one of the greats?” I pressed a hand to my heart. “I’m touched. I’ve truly made it. I can sulk off into retirement in contentment now.”
“Shut up.”
“But really, it won’t be anywhere near as big of a deal as you retiring,” I said, tugging my beanie closer against my head.
“Why do you always do that?” Liam stopped, turning to face me.
“Do what?”
“Undermine yourself. You’re a hell of a goalie. You should know that. Own it.”
Him and Maggie—they were so adamant when it came to forcing you to accept validation, even when you didn’t want to. It was endearing, really, despite them looking so damned aggressive as they dished it out.
“I do,” I said, knowing that I’d put my body through the ringer over the years for the sake of the game. Knowing that objectively my stats were impressive. Knowing that Coach was proud of me. “It just… doesn’t feel like enough anymore.”
I guess Liam had rubbed off on me, because I couldn’t help the way I’d started to think of it not as this epic thing that I used to live and breathe and sweat for, but now as just… a game?
Because without hockey, when I looked around at my life, I was left with nothing. And that didn’t sit well with me. Not at all.
“It doesn’t erase the fact that you’ve broken records, played for the Stanley Cup twice, and become the fan favorite of Boston.”
“That last one is more to do with my sparkling personality than anything I’ve done on the ice.”
“It’s both, and don’t pretend like it’s not.”
“Thanks,” I told him. “But I’m ready to start building a life outside of it. The way you’ve done.”
I didn’t want to be thirty-five, on the last leg of my career, standing in an empty locker room while everyone had gone home to their families.
“I get that. Trust me, I do. I just don’t want you to sell yourself short to yourself. Most people will never accomplish half the things you’ve done in life, and hockey isn’t even at the top of that list.”
“Who knew you were so sentimental?” I gushed, knowing if I told him how much his words meant to me, he’d shrug it off like it hadn’t come from the very pits of that closely guarded heart of his.
He shook his head and picked up the pace, forcing me to take a few big steps to catch up with him again.
“What about you, though? How are you feeling about retirement?” I asked him.
“Honestly, I’m feeling extremely at peace about it all. I’m ready for it.”
“Wow, we’re really at the end of an era, huh?” I said, feeling the finality of decisions made washing over me.
“It’s time for a new set of kids to take our place,” Liam said. “Time to pass on the torch.”
“It’s scary how fast time went by.” I shook my head in disbelief. “I still feel like a kid myself. Except my body feels sort of like an old man’s.”
“Yeah, you look like one, too,” Liam said in that dry way of his.
“Take a look in the mirror, buddy. I have the baby-fresh face of an angel.” I patted my freshly shaven cheeks. “Whereas you are sporting a few gray hairs.”
“I am not.”
He wasn’t. But I made a point of looking, anyway.
“How about you shut up and tell me what your next step is?”
“I guess I’m going to go back to the apartment today, pack up my stuff, and ship it to Michigan.”
“Yeah?” he asked, slightly surprised. “And when are you officially leaving?”
“Well, that depends on when we’re booted, but probably right after,” I said, thinking grimly of our piss-poor performance this year.
“Yeah,” Liam grimaced, in turn ashamed. “My heart hasn’t been in it. My mind’s been occupied with… other things.”
“And I’ve completely dropped the ball. I know that. This might be our worst season in our entire career.”
Liam shrugged. “It happens. We’re human.”
He said that, but I knew he was disappointed in himself. If this was truly his last season, then he deserved to go out with a bang.
I couldn’t reconcile the fact of me leaving on such a sour note, for that matter, either. But I didn’t see what else could be done about that.
Some things crashed and burned, despite how brightly they started out—whether that be hockey or relationships or life in general. Lucky me, it was all three at once.
“If you want, I can come help you pack everything up now,” Liam offered. “We’ve got a few hours before we’re due at the rink.”
“Honestly, man? That would be great,” I told him.
I couldn’t think of anything more depressing than packing up my entire life on my own, with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company.
“Are you going to tell Maggie you’re packing up?”
“She won’t care,” I told him, remembering that word she used, solidifying the nail in our coffin. Friends. “Besides, I just want to get it done and over with.”
“All right,” he said skeptically, remaining firm in his decision to stay out of it. “Let’s go do it then.”
And as casually as that, we went to go pack up the last decade of my life.