Chapter 41
My last final of the semester ends at eleven forty-three on a Thursday, and for the first time in months, I have absolutely nowhere I need to be.
No class. No practice. No lifting.
Coach Nolan gave us two days off before we’re back on the ice. Swear that man needs get laid soon. Or at least find someone to remind him what the holidays are for.
But I have forty-eight hours to sleep, eat something that doesn’t come out of a vending machine, and apparently make several major life decisions.
I already made one this morning.
When I took the call from Coach’s old agent.
We only talked for twenty minutes, but it was enough for him to tell me he’s been following my season, knows exactly where I’m projected, and has no interest in feeding me bullshit about draft position.
Top five is still top five, but half a season of hockey is a lot of hockey.
Teams are watching everything now—my shifts, my numbers, how I respond after a bad game, and after what happened with McKenna—whether I can stay out of the box because of a personal vendetta.
Apparently, NHL scouts enjoy evaluating emotional stability almost as much as they do our stats.
He didn’t bother trying to hide he knows where I come from. Who my dad was and the weight it carries. But he did tell me the same thing Coach has—means nothing compared to what I’ve been proving out there.
We set a meeting for January to sit down with Coach and go over everything properly. Representation. Interviews. What happens after the season.
My future.
Which should probably terrify me more than it does.
I push open the door to my bedroom and nearly trip over a purple duffel bag. “Jesus Christ.”
Isla’s staying with me until the week after Christmas, when her new dorm with Maddie and Tisch will be ready.
Chili and Olive are officially someone else’s problem and I couldn’t be more relieved.
Even after fixing the place up to make her comfortable, I didn’t want her—or her lungs— anywhere near that duo.
“Sorry.” Isla winces. “I meant to move it.” She stands but I lift it off the floor before she reaches me.
“I got it.” I bend down for a kiss instead.
Her last final is tomorrow—philosophy—and she’s been stressing about this one all week.
I don’t mind her being preoccupied with it one bit.
If her being too busy worrying about the difference between free will and determinism to notice the crisis happening in my bedroom, I’m more than okay with it.
I set her bag on the bed and gently press her back onto the mattress, hovering my mouth over hers. “I need a shower and you need a break.” I swipe my tongue between her pink lips. “Come with me.”
She groans. “I can’t. I need to keep studying.”
I draw back, my lips not far from hers. “Tease.”
“How am I a tease? I’m studying.”
“No, you’re not.” I turn her laptop, which I caught a glimpse of a moment ago on the athletics department page and my name in bold. “You’re stalking my page again. And it’s a fucking turn-on. Because I’m equally as obsessed with you.”
She pushes against my chest. “Take a closer look, hotshot.”
I turn to the screen, my eyes still shot from the two-hour final in Business Law.
It’s not the athletics page. It’s the Northwind Blow page.
The photo is of Isla and me at the boards in a celebratory moment.
The article is a few days old and the photo—which I got from another source—is my new screensaver.
“Literally living with me and still stalking me online,” I tease.
“Temporarily living with you and maybe it’s not you I’m obsessed with.” She shrugs. “Maybe it’s us.”
“Oh good, so I can grope you in public, sweet. “ I look over at her, careful not to push too hard outside her comfort zone. “You good with this? I can have it taken down.”
She bites back a smile, which tells me she loves it as much as I do. “No. I’m just happy I was wearing the right jersey when they took this photo.” She scrunches her nose. “Too soon?”
I chuckle and kiss the tip of her nose. “Worth it if you can joke about it.”
I’m about to pull her into the shower with me—change her mind real quick about how much she truly needs to study, but my phone vibrates in my pocket.
For half a second, I think it might be Daniel Mercer, the attorney I hired to work on Isla’s dad’s case. Now that we have the official green light from him.
Daniel agreed to review the case, but that’s all it is right now—a review of the legitimacy of the two additional years.
But I know it’s a long shot he’ll find anything this fast. He needs to look over case files, plea records, evidence, names, and something stronger than Henry Hayes finally telling the truth. He warned me not to expect miracles and I’m not.
But if there’s even a crack in that conviction big enough to get a court to look at it again, I want him to find it.
The number on my screen isn’t Mercer.
It’s someone I was hoping not to hear from until after the holidays.
I groan. “I’ve got to take this—but don’t move. And if you do, it better be to get naked and meet me in the shower.” I give her a kiss and step outside my bedroom to answer the call from the Northwind Athletics’ psychologist.
“Dr. Bennet,” I start.
“Kane, hi. Is this a good time? I just wanted to get something on the books for us soon.”
I told Coach I’d think about scheduling active sessions with the man, but I already knew I was.
Isla’s been telling me how much therapy has helped her.
Dropping words like ‘freeing’ and ‘eye-opening’.
And how it can reframe your perspective on things that weigh you down.
Open up your subconscious, connect the dots and all that.
I know all this. I also know how time-consuming, emotional, and disappointing it can be. Because what if it’s all for nothing? What if it can’t fix me? If this is one stubborn part of me that will stay with me throughout my career, and no one could convince me otherwise.
These are only some of the reasons I haven’t gone other than the occasional department required ones so they can check a box.
But I’m ready now. And I can be patient.
I’ve got serious shit to work through and I know most of it is in my head.
Coach told me that for him, it was like a bad knot in his shoulder that needed to be worked out.
The longer you walk around with it, the tighter it gets, and the harder it’ll be to loosen. But every visit gets you closer.
“That’s great. Thanks for calling. I’m good to start whenever. And if it’s alright with you, I’d like to put something on weekly.”
“I think weekly is a great start. You know where my office is. I’m going to send you a link to the app where you can schedule and reschedule based on practice and game schedules. Don’t worry about moving them around, it’s expected around here.”
I release a breath. “Thanks.”
“Caught your game the other day. Incredible comeback.”
I chuckle and glance back at the room where I left Isla. One day I’m going to have to tell her that the entire thing was staged.
Blackridge was an easy win for us. The guys and I had a quick huddle before puck drop in the tunnel. Strong first. Let them tie it in second. And wait to see what happens in third.
Isla was right. I didn’t need Shadow to come through for us. I needed Isla to come through for herself.
The win? It was in the bag the entire time.
It’s why we all came out of the tunnel pumped. Why I had a goofy grin. Because she didn’t know it yet, but she was going to have another win that night.
And this time—I was going to help her get there.
Still owe Fletcher a grand for setting up shop at the game for a fake “malfunctioning” board. The fact that the kid didn’t laugh in my face after I put his reputation at risk is a fucking miracle.
What I wasn’t expecting, though, was her message. I know I shouldn’t be surprised at this point. Shadow’s unpredictable. But fuck did that one catch me off guard and make it almost impossible to stand.
I didn’t know it was possible to love her more.
It’s also why I’m taking this step by seeing a therapist regularly.
We can be there for each other when the voices in our heads get too loud. But it’s not her job to silence mine. She shouldn’t carry the burden because of a crazy—yet sexy—superstition I imposed because I wanted more of her.
One day, the voices will stop. Hers too. And I’ll look at her and remember it all started with the beautiful girl in the stands who looked like she could see right through me.
And still chose me.