Chapter 2 #2
I cleared my throat. “So, uh, you’re up in the owner’s box tonight?”
“That’s what Chris says. He, uh…” Garrett shifted his weight, and he was suddenly… shy? Bashful? “He said to go with you or Gil.”
“Right. Yeah.” I gestured toward the elevator. “Let’s go.” I started in that direction, and he fell into step without a word.
Maybe he was a little starstruck. He definitely had been earlier, though he’d clearly been trying not to let it show. Even after all this time, it still weirded me out that people had that reaction to me, but there it was.
I knew what that felt like. It had happened to me more times than I could count in my early years, especially when I’d been meeting and playing alongside legends like Barry Davis and Alexandre Beaupré. Even if I still couldn’t fathom people being starstruck by me, I did know that feeling.
And I couldn’t quite figure out why I felt something like it right now.
Standing in the elevator beside my teammate’s dad, watching the numbers as we rose to the suite level, I was jittery in that familiar way. My heart was doing things it hadn’t since the day I met Barry Davis and I’d almost lost my mind because he knew my name.
Why was I feeling like that now?
I glanced at the man standing beside me. He met my gaze and smiled, crinkling the corners of his eyes, and…
Oh fuck.
I gulped and focused straight ahead again. Thank God, the elevator picked that moment to reach the suite level. We stepped out into the thinly crowded concourse, and I let the noise drown out the ridiculous thoughts banging around in my head.
At the owner’s suite, I swiped my badge and let us in.
As we entered, Garrett whistled. “Wow. This is nice.”
He wasn’t wrong. The suite, which sat just above the lower bowl seats, had five rows of leather chairs with an incredible view of the ice, as well as the Jumbotron and both benches.
Behind the seats, we had a fully stocked bar and kitchen with several spreads of food laid out for us to help ourselves.
“They have quite a bit,” I said, gesturing at the food, “but if you want something else, just let the staff know. They’ll bring up anything from concessions.”
Garrett turned his wide eyes on me. “Seriously?”
“Yep.” I smiled. “Beer, pizza, hot dogs—anything you want.”
“Nice.” He swept his gaze over the offered sandwiches, salads, and desserts. “Pretty sure this will be fine.”
“It usually is.” I grabbed a couple of sandwiches on a plate along with a decent helping of salad, tucked a water bottle under my arm, and continued down to the seats.
I was both unnerved and relieved when Garrett asked to join me a moment later. Of course I said yes even while I was internally screaming that I’d lose my stupid mind around him. At least I was able to keep that out of his sight. I hoped, anyway.
While the timer on the Jumbotron ticked down toward warmups, we didn’t say much. He seemed content to just eat while he took in his surroundings. Me? My brain was going in too damn many different directions.
The longer we sat here, the more that weird starstruck feeling ebbed. I was still restless with all this sudden attraction that had no outlet, but my equilibrium was closer to normal now. If nothing else, I trusted myself not to say or do something stupid. I’d take it.
As I reclaimed my balance and my ability to think, though, my mind also reached topics besides Garrett, and not all of them were pleasant.
After I’d walked away from the interview with Jack, I hadn’t had that usual smug feeling like I’d bested him at his own game. I’d kept him from obtaining the juicy gossip he wanted, but I didn’t feel good about the interaction.
I hated how much those questions got under my skin.
Yeah, I knew people were fascinated with our lives.
I got that. But I didn’t like how invested they could get.
Especially those whose investment turned into entitlement; they were convinced that being our fans or the media meant they should have unfiltered access to our private lives.
Worse, I didn’t like how his questions had turned over a few rocks in my brain that I would’ve preferred to leave alone for a while.
Truth was, I had been thinking about life after hockey.
Retirement was still a ways off, but it was coming up.
It was coming up fast. I was thirty-seven in a sport where very few made it to forty and my contract was up after next season; I only had so much time left here.
What was life going to look like after that?
I didn’t know. I didn’t have a fucking clue.
And that had been eating at me more than I wanted to say out loud.
What would I do when I wasn’t playing anymore? What was left when there was no longer competition or another Cup or another medal to strive for?
What the hell was I supposed to do with myself?
I shifted in my seat, gnawing my lip as I watched the Zambonis resurfacing the ice far below us.
Who am I without hockey?
That was the question that had been needling at me for a while now. Every time I brushed up against retirement, I ran into that existential wall, and I didn’t know how to get past it. And even if I could figure that out, I was terrified of what was behind it.
Of course, even if I was no longer playing, hockey could still be a part of my life. I could pick up a coaching job. Gil had said a few times I’d be a good scout or even a GM.
But hockey-related jobs weren’t the same as playing hockey. I was a hockey player, and I’d been a hockey player for as long as I could remember. It was the only identity I’d ever had. When I retired… that identity would be gone.
And I had no idea what came next.