Chapter 1 #2
“I just got the call. Aren’t you supposed to be on top of this shit?” I ran a hand through my hair, trying to breathe. “Just…get in touch when you know more. I need to get out of here.”
I didn’t wait for a response. Turning away, I headed for the parking lot, the shock still buzzing in my ears.
Miami. How the hell was I supposed to play hockey in Miami?
“Mason, wait up!” Ethan called. “Are you okay?”
I waved him off without looking back. “Gotta go. I’ll catch you later.”
Each step felt heavier than the last. Miami. Thousands of miles from home. From everything I’d built here. My whole damn life was rooted in Canada.
My car gleamed in the afternoon sun. I yanked open the door and dropped into the driver’s seat, gripping the wheel until my knuckles whitened.
I fumbled for my phone and punched in Gideon’s number. It rang several times before he finally picked up.
“Mase, do you have any idea what time it is?”
“Meet me at the cabin. One hour.”
“It’s the weekend,” he replied, all faux outrage. “You know I don’t work weekends.”
“Now, Gideon. Or you’re fired.”
Low blow. He knew I’d never actually fire him. But I needed him.
He groaned. “Seriously? I’m kind of in the middle of something here.”
“Gideon, I swear to God. One hour.”
“Alright, alright. Keep your pants on. I’ll be there.” He huffed dramatically. “But you owe me big time for this.”
I hung up and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat.
God, what a mess.
The familiar landscape passed in a blur. The towering pines, winding roads, and quiet lakes made this place feel like home. Soon it would all be replaced by concrete, palm trees, and air so thick you could drink it.
I pulled into the driveway. The cabin stood still and solid against the backdrop of trees.
Inside, I poured myself a stiff drink and paced the living room. The whiskey went down hot and useless.
A few minutes later, I heard tires crunching on gravel.
Gideon had arrived.
The front door swung open, and in walked Gideon, looking like he’d just stepped off the runway of a circus-themed fashion show.
He wore a shimmering lime green blazer over a polka-dot button-down, white skinny jeans, and shiny silver runners.
A pair of oversized aviators perched on his head completed the eye-searing ensemble.
His outfit was an assault on the senses. But that was Gideon, always pushing fashion to its limits.
“You’re glowing.” I took another drink without looking up.
“This better be good, Mase.” He flopped onto the couch and crossed his legs. “I was in the middle of a heated bidding war for a vintage Hermès scarf on eBay.”
I downed the rest of my whiskey and set the glass on the table with a thud. “They traded me.”
For a moment, Gideon froze, his mouth open as if someone had hit pause. He blinked rapidly, his brain scrambling to catch up. “Shut the front door. Are you serious?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” I rubbed a hand over my face. “To Miami. The goddamn Miami Fusion.”
Silence.
Then Gideon hit a pitch that could shatter glass. “Miami?” His hands flew to his cheeks. “Miami as in palm trees, endless summer, and Cuban coffee?”
I shot him a look. “Gid. Focus. This is my career we’re talking about.”
“Oh my God, Mason. Do you know what this means?”
“Yeah, it means my life is over,” I muttered, sinking onto the couch beside him.
Gideon rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic.
That’s my job.” He waved his hands as he launched into a full-speed ramble.
“Think about it—sun, sand, and speedo-clad hotties as far as the eye can see. I can already see my Instagram stories blowing up. We’re talking year-round tan, Mason. Year. Round. Tan.”
“We?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Obviously I’m coming with you,” he scoffed. “Who else is going to make sure you don’t walk out the door in cargo shorts and flip-flops like some kind of heathen?”
Despite everything, a small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. “Gid, I don’t even own flip-flops.”
“Exactly my point.” He clapped his hands. “And the nightlife! Can you imagine? Clubs that stay open past two a.m.!”
I leaned back and stared at the ceiling. Miami. The more I said it, the more it felt like a death sentence. “You’re missing the point. Everything... my whole life is here. How am I just supposed to leave?”
Gideon tapped his chin. “I get it. Change sucks. But this could be good for you. A fresh start. New opportunities. New endorsements. Apex Gear will love the tropical vibe for your next campaign.”
“I don’t care about endorsements right now.” I stood and resumed pacing.
Gideon’s phone chimed. He glanced at the screen and groaned. “Shit. I’ve been outbid for the scarf. Damn you, HermesHottie72.”
I stared out the cabin window, watching a bird flit between the snow-laden pine branches. The peaceful scene felt completely at odds with the chaos in my mind.
Miami. I was going to Miami.
I turned to face Gideon, who was perched on the edge of the couch, fingers flying over his phone. “Find me a place to live in Miami. ASAP.”
His head snapped up, eyes sparking. “Oh em gee, this is really happening!”
“Yeah, I don’t know when they’ll want me to report, but I sure as hell don’t want to be stuck living out of a hotel. Privacy is non-negotiable,” I said, glancing at my watch. “I’ll check with my financial advisor about a budget. You start scouting places online.”
“Consider it done!” he practically sang. “This is going to be so much fun. I’ll start digging up some fab listings right now.”
I held up a hand. “Easy there, Martha Stewart. I need somewhere to crash that isn’t a hotel. Nothing fancy. No penthouses or whatever wild ideas you’re cooking up.”
Gideon’s excitement deflated like a punctured balloon. I almost felt bad. Almost.
“What about this place?” he asked, gesturing around the cabin.
My gaze swept the room. The old leather couch. The worn wood beams. My safe haven. “No way I’m selling this place. I’ll still need somewhere to escape when Miami gets too... Miami. But I can let go of the condo in Toronto.”
“Fair enough. I’ll find you a real estate agent,” he said. “So, what are we looking for? Give me your list of must-haves.”
I ticked them off on my fingers. “Within thirty minutes of the practice rink. Condo with security. At least two bedrooms. And a pool wouldn’t hurt.”
“Got it. And furniture? Style? Decor?”
I eyed his outfit. “You can furnish it, but keep it simple. Bed, couch, TV, a few chairs. That’s it. And Gid...” I gave him a look. “Decorate for me, not you, okay?”
“Ugh, your style,” he scoffed, flopping back dramatically. Then he tilted his head and smirked. “And that style would be what, exactly?”
I gestured around the cabin. Worn leather furniture. Rustic wood accents. The faint smell of pine. “This. This is my style.”
“Seriously?” He wrinkled his nose. “Early Canadian lumberjack is not the vibe you want to bring to Miami.”
“That’s what I like. Take it or leave it.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I just want the basics. Something simple and comfortable.”
“Oh honey, we are going to have to work on expanding your style horizons. You’re such a heterosexual male.” He shook his head in mock despair, then sighed, clearly holding back a smile. “Fine. I promise to keep it simple. No glitter. No animal prints. No life-size nude sculptures.”
“There better not be,” I grumbled, though a small grin tugged at my lips. As annoying as Gideon could be, his enthusiasm was infectious.
He turned back to his phone, probably already scrolling through listings.
“Ooh, and while we’re at it, I should start looking for a fabulous little place for myself, too.
Nothing as swanky as yours, obviously, but a cute apartment with a balcony and a beach view?
Divine. I can already see myself sipping espresso every morning, soaking up the sun. ”
I raised an eyebrow. “You were serious about moving to Miami? Just like that?”
“Of course!” Gideon rolled his eyes. “You can’t expect me to manage your life from all the way up here in the Great White North. However, there’s one tiny little thing.”
“Here it comes,” I muttered, because Gideon’s ‘tiny’ things were never tiny.
He batted his lashes. “Miami isn’t exactly cheap. I might need a little… adjustment in my salary.”
He was a damn good assistant, and I’d be lost without him, especially now. “Fine. I’ll talk to my financial advisor and see what we can do.”
Gideon let out a squeal I was pretty sure only dogs could fully hear. “You won’t regret this, Mason! I promise I’ll make the transition so smooth you won’t even miss the snow and moose up here.”
“Doubtful.” I crossed my arms, but his good mood was getting to me.
“Oh my God, can you believe it? Miami! I can already feel the sun on my skin, the sand between my toes.” He paused, eyeing me critically. “We’re going to need to update your wardrobe. I’m thinking fewer flannels, more... everything else.”
I grunted, still processing the whiplash my life had just taken. “Focus on finding us places to live first. We’ll deal with clothes later.”
“Whatever you say, boss man,” he said breezily, already tapping away. “I need to order a new speedo. I’ll send you the bill—it’s a necessary business expense. You think I can network properly at those pool parties without a killer speedo?”
I shook my head. What the hell had I gotten myself into?