Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
Sawyer
We get into the hotel at almost two, and even though I’m exhausted, I take the time to finish going through the contracts my agent sent over.
One of the collaborations is definitely not going to work out—I highly doubt they’ll accommodate the changes I’ll need to make the contract worth signing.
But that’s all right.
The other two I make my way through only require simple amendments.
At least on my end.
Obviously, the lawyers will need to look everything over.
But I’ve looked at enough of these—of legal documents—over the years to have a general idea of what’s going to work and what won’t.
And if two of the three work out, that’ll be a nice padding for my retirement accounts.
Because the reality is that hockey careers aren’t necessarily long-term.
Sure, there are exceptions—the men who grind out decades at the highest level (Smitty, I’m looking at you)—and I’m not planning on going anywhere, but I’ve learned that backup plans are necessary.
So, I’ll keep making them.
I hit send on the emails, tossing the sheaf of papers to the side, then set about finding a date to deliver my items for Bri’s fundraiser.
Eyes heavy, I turn to my mom’s seemingly endless list of tasks and reach out to a couple of doctors to schedule follow-up appointments, her financial advisor to make sure she’s staying on track, and contact a handyman to service her garage door that’s been running loudly.
After sending her a text letting her know all of that, and that I safely reached the hotel, I put my phone on do not disturb, my laptop aside, and go to sleep.
Unfortunately, I don’t stay that way.
The first call I don’t hear because my phone’s on DND.
The second gets through, though, and I groggily pull it from the charger, swipe across the screen and put it to my ear. “’Lo?”
“I need Lainey’s number,” my mom says. “Immediately.”
Sleep is the only thing that’s happening immediately—or a loss of it, anyway.
“What are you talking about?”
“She and I need to go to lunch,” my mom says. “I need to get to know her, and that adorable little Ollie, better.”
I sit up, horror slicing through my insides.
“That’s not going to happen, Mom,” I snap out before I realize what I’m saying.
Silence greets me, reminding me that was the absolutely wrong thing to say.
A sniff. “I’m sorry.”
I close my eyes, head pounding. “Look,” I say, “I’m exhausted and only got”—I glance at the clock—“three hours of sleep. Lainey and I are new, Mom. We’re figuring things out and going slow because of Ollie. It’s a little too soon for lunch, okay?”
“O-of course. I don’t kn-know what I was thinking.” She sniffs again. “I’ll mind my own business.”
“Mom,” I begin, rubbing at my throbbing temple. “I’m not saying—”
“You’re tired and I got ahead of myself.” Her tone is meek. “I’ll let you get back to sleep.”
“Mom—”
“Bye, honey.”
Click.
Groaning, I rub my hands over my face.
And though I try to go back to sleep, I don’t fucking succeed.
I just lie there with my eyes closed for long, long minutes.
Then I lie there with my gaze glued to the ceiling even longer, thinking about all the ways I fucked up and all the ways this can go so totally more fucked.
My mom and Lainey going to lunch together.
My mom having her fucking number.
My mom calling her over and over again.
My mom—
Groaning, I scrub my hands over my face and give up on sleep.
A long, hot shower has me feeling somewhat human, but I know I’m going to crash hard tonight. Thankfully, the only team event today is dinner. After the extended game last night, Coach gave us the day off from practice.
I still need to hit the gym though.
My neck is flaring up again and I need to do the shit my physical therapist and the team’s training staff prescribed, need to stretch and properly recover from last night. We have a lot of season to go and I need to stay in fighting shape for the months ahead, and eventually, the playoffs.
We have a legit chance at the Cup this year, and I need to make sure I’m pulling my weight.
So, I don’t crawl back into bed, even though I really want to.
Instead, I go downstairs and hit the gym.
It’s not empty, Ryan and Rip are on the bikes, and Leo is at the free weights.
I grab a foam roller and a lacrosse ball from the basket of supplies the equipment guys provide and spend a ridiculous amount of time trying to ease the tension from my muscles.
But the moment I loosen one tight spot, another crops up.
Something my teammates notice.
“Lainey isn’t here to massage you, huh?”
I turn my head and glare over at Rip. “You think you’re funny, Rookie. But you’re not.”
“Yup,” he says. “I’m hilarious. And you’re old, Cupcake.”
Not even thirty yet, and the kid who can’t legally drink thinks I’m old.
Christ.
“Maybe I am old,” I agree. “And maybe I can go up to the bar and order a beer.” I smirk at him. “Can you say the same?”
He scowls. “So fucking dumb. I can go home and drink, but here…”
“Shit outta luck,” Ryan supplies, grinning at me. “Poor little baby.”
“Asshole,” Rip mutters.
Ryan just reaches over and turns up the resistance on Rip’s bike in retaliation.
Which has Rip retaliating back.
And then the two of them are in a pissing contest for speed and distance and resistance.
I shake my head at them, but don’t get in the middle of it—hockey players are going to hockey player—and honestly, it’s nice to see Ryan let loose a little.
The man’s life and emotions have been so carefully controlled they make me and my shit look easy-breezy.
“You look like hell,” Leo says quietly.
I sigh and keep stretching. “Same old. Same old.”
His eyes come to mine. “You need help handling it?”
Handling the shitshow that’s my mom?
Absolutely fucking not.
“Naw,” I say. “I’m good.”
His expression tells me he believes that approximately…zero percent.
Fair.
Because that’s how much I believe it too.
I’m good, I’m fucking great. Lainey and Ollie are perfect and amazing and everything I’ve been wanting for-fucking-ever.
And my mom is waiting on the sidelines again.
Ready to send it all crumbling to pieces.
I exhale. “Fine,” I mutter. “I’m not good. But I’ve got it covered.”
I’ll deal with my mom.
I always do.
And I’ll figure out some way to manage her and her needs without hurting Ollie and Lainey.
Because I have to.
Because if I can’t do that, then I’ll have to let them go.
I don’t have another choice.
Because if anyone is going to get hurt…
It has to be me.