Chapter 9 #4
Victor didn’t like that response. “Then you need to figure it out. Quick. And if you don’t want this, then you need to walk away. Right now.”
Dean had seen this roadblock coming from a mile away, but he kept avoiding it, desperate to steal every second with Vivian that he could. But Victor was right. The longer they let this go on, the harder it was going to be when it was time to move on.
“You’re right,” Dean admitted.
Victor stood slowly. “Always good to hear that, but, man, this is one of those times when I wish I was wrong. Please don’t hurt my sister, Dean.”
“I swear, Vic, that is the last thing I want to do.”
Victor didn’t say anything else. Just gave him a sad smile, then left the office, closing the door behind him with a hell of a lot less force than when he’d walked in.
Dean picked up his phone, opening the ongoing text thread that had been running between him and Vivian for weeks.
He’d spent the better part of the morning telling himself he needed more time to think, but the truth was, he already knew the right answer.
He just hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself.
He leaned back in his office chair and scrubbed a hand on his face.
How the hell had he gotten here?
A few months ago, he’d been perfectly content with his life. Predictable routines. Work. Hockey. The occasional meal with McKenna.
It wasn’t a bad life. Just a quiet, unencumbered one.
Then Vivian had walked into it with her sexy laugh, intelligent wit, and easygoing way of talking that never failed to calm him after a stressful day or a shitty game.
Somewhere along the line, he’d stopped looking forward to seeing her. He’d started needing to.
That should have made this decision easier, but instead, it made it nearly impossible. Because he wasn’t deciding whether to continue dating a woman he cared for. He was trying to decide whether he had the right to ask her to build a future with him.
And he wasn’t sure he did.
He looked around his office, his walls decorated with countless framed photographs of himself at all stages of his career.
Every single one of them attached to the game.
There was a picture of him holding the Stanley Cup next to the team captain, Alex Stone, the year the Rays went all the way.
There was another of him with teammate Elio Moretti, arms wrapped around each other, the night Dean had broken the team’s record for most assists in a single season.
There was one of him and Victor sitting on the bench next to each other, back when they’d been teammates, and another of him posing with a few players from Vancouver, right after he was named assistant coach.
There were a couple from last season, Christmas gifts from McKenna, showing him in a suit and tie, standing behind the bench in full beast coaching mode.
His whole life was hanging on these walls, and every single one of those moments happened on the ice.
Then he thought about what had been happening in McKenna’s life, while he’d been focused on the game. McKenna had assured him she didn’t hold his decisions against him, but the problem was…Dean did.
Especially when he considered Vivian’s husband, Phil.
He’d never met the man, so everything he knew came secondhand—from Vivian, Victor, and Belle. They all spoke about him as though they’d lost someone irreplaceable.
Phil had been a high school science teacher. Dean smiled sadly, certain that if Phil had lived…
He would have wrapped his whole world around his family, around Vivian and Pip.
Vivian deserved someone who showed up, who didn’t instinctively choose work. She deserved the kind of love she’d already had once. Not a commitment-phobe failed father, a career-obsessed man who wasn’t sure he could promise forever. Hell, he wasn’t even sure what forever looked like.
He tapped in the message bar before he could talk himself out of the next part.
I know Pip is sick, but when she’s better, could we meet to talk?
He read the words three times before hitting send.
The reply came almost immediately.
Sounds serious.
Dean closed his eyes. He wanted to say she was imagining things, wanted to reassure her that she was wrong, but he couldn’t.
It won’t take long.
It couldn’t take long. If he stayed more than a few minutes, she’d smile at him, reach across the table to touch his hand, and he would lose his nerve. It would be best if he just said the words, wished her well, then got the hell out of Dodge.
Another message appeared.
Pip’s fever broke an hour ago. Belle is here with her because I have to run to the hospital to see a patient this afternoon.
Even now, she was juggling everyone else’s needs before her own.
I have a meeting with the GM soon, but hopefully, it won’t last long. Would you have time for a quick drink later. Pat’s Pub?
Sure. 4 p.m.?
His thumb hesitated over the screen for a full minute before he found the strength to reply.
See you there.
Dean set the phone face down on his desk as if that somehow made this decision final.
Something told him final or not, it was going to take him a long damn time to get over Vivian Kelly.