by Olivia Luck
What if I had never met Max? Would he still be alive? Would he be happier with another woman?
“Stop!” Rocky jerks at my outburst. I’m holding him tight. Too tight. My grip loosens on him and the barrage of questions. Rushing into the bathroom, I turn the cold water on full blast. The refreshing liquid washes away the remorse. The sorrow. The blistering pain.
I wheel around to the dining area where my work materials spread across the table. Planning the Scrapers gala is going extraordinarily well. Tomorrow, I have a status meeting at the Scrapers facility to update Janet and her team and then lunch with Stella.
Tomorrow will be better than today, I silently promise myself.
Rocky opens his mouth wide, his pink tongue stretching with a large yawn. I snap a picture of his dopey, sleepy expression and text it to Cameron. This is the first one I’ve sent to him, with the caption: Waiting for the puck to drop.
A few minutes later, I’m tapping an email to a potential decorator for the gala when my phone buzzes with a text from Cameron.
You watching the game?
Of course, that way Rocky won’t get too homesick.
All right, we’ll win this one for you two.
His bravado makes me smile and the tiniest bit less tense.
Today was a hard day. But that doesn’t mean tomorrow will be this tough.
“How’s dog sitting?” Stella asks from the opposite side of her desk. There aren’t many lunch options within walking distance of the Scrapers training facility, so we ordered in and are eating in Stella’s office with the door shut to avoid prying ears.
“It’s a breeze. I love being around a dog again.”
“Again?” Stella asks around a mouthful of spinach. What I revealed must have shocked her into speaking because the woman has impeccable manners.
“Growing up, my family always had one. Before I left for college, I had Porter, this loyal German Shepherd. I loved him more than anything . . .”
“Did he pass away?” she asks gently.
“Um, you know, I’m not sure.” To buy time, I lift my sandwich and take a hearty bite.
Stella gets that this topic makes me uncomfortable and drops it. That’s Stella, so sweet she’ll give you a toothache. If the roles were reversed, I would have peppered her with questions. In fact, I did that while she struggled with her feelings for Blake. Stella gives me blessed silence and I’m about to let it go when suddenly I get it. Keeping these memories tucked away only lets them ruminate until I fly off into a crying jag like yesterday.
“When I left home, Porter had just turned one,” I tell her. “Then I went to college and my dad didn’t want me back. He—he saw me leaving as the ultimate act of defiance and, thus, I haven’t seen my dog since then.”
“V.” How can one letter hold an abundance of emotion? I hear compassion, understanding, love.
I smile sadly at her. “Yeah.”
“Do you want to go back there?” she asks softly.
My gaze drops to the crinkled paper my discarded sandwich lies on. I trace my fingertip around the name of the deli. “Going to the place I grew up—” I refuse to call it home “—would probably only do more harm. I’m not really welcome back there. My father believes that I committed the ultimate sin by leaving the religion.”
Stella frowns, a wrinkle creasing the skin between her brows. “Forgive me, but that’s garbage.”
I lift my shoulders in a shrug. “There’s nothing I can do about it now. I’m better off being here. If I had never left, I wouldn’t have met you or Max . . . Saying this all out loud helps put the decision to leave in perspective. Small town living is behind me, now. Thanks to you, Dominic, and Blake, I have this great job. That’s my focus.” My stomach dips a little bit because my words are far from the truth. I think about Iris often. By the sympathetic expression Stella flashes at me, I know she can read my mind.
“Mark your calendar. You have plans for New Year’s Eve,” Stella says when we’re finished eating.
“It’s not even November yet,” I groan.
“Yeah, but everyone gets booked up quick. Blake and I are throwing a dinner party and you’re coming.”
“I’ll have check with my assistant. You know how busy I get,” I fib.
“Right. Just don’t make any other plans.”
“Of course.”
A little while later, I step off the bus near my apartment. Climbing up the steps is easier today, knowing that there’s a dog waiting behind the door to keep me company. Cameron’s coming to get Rocky in a couple of hours. Until then, I’m going to get all the puppy love I can.
The keys clank against the bowl I drop them in when I enter the apartment. Rocky greets me with a flurry of licks and excited yelps. He falls onto his rump, tail wagging against the floor until I stoop down to tickle the spot behind his ears.
Almost instantly, I can tell something is different in the apartment. Mounted to the wall, what used to be a twenty-inch TV, is now a screen more than double in size. A new white console stands beneath the television, housing multiple black devices.
“It’s too bad you can’t talk and tell me what the h-e-c-k is going on,” I say aloud. Then I notice a white envelope lying in the middle of the coffee table. A masculine hand has scrawled my name across the outside.
If you’re going to make your way through that impressive list of movies, you’ll need the right equipment. You have accounts with all the streaming services and movie channels. Get started! Don’t even think about returning any of this. Not an option. This is coming from your pop culture personal trainer.
There’s no signature on the card, but I know who wrote the message.
“You get the package?” Cameron answers my call.
“This is too much. It must have cost a fortune.”
“Try that again,” his deep voice rumbles on the other line. “Say, ‘Cameron, you are the best personal trainer. This television will help me achieve all of my media goals.’”
Giggling, I place a hand on my forehead in disbelief. “Cameron, you’re too generous.”
“Ah. That’s not right. Repeat after me. Cameron, you are the best personal trainer.”
“Cameron you are the best personal trainer. The television and streaming apps will help me achieve all of my media goals,” I parrot back, adding in the part about the accounts. “This is a wildly generous payment. Way more than I deserve for watching Rocky.”
I can hear Cameron’s easygoing smile even though I can’t see it. “That’s your perception. From my angle, you’re taking care of my best friend. A debt I can never fully repay. No more questions. Just accept the gesture. Got it?”
“Thanks, Cameron,” I murmur when I realize that I’m not going to win this fight.
“It was nothing.” He’s embarrassed by his thoughtfulness with the way he mutters the words quickly. “There are directions for how to use everything in the new cabinet thing.”
“What about Stella’s stuff?”
“Donated to a shelter with her permission. Hey, listen, I have to run into somewhere. I’ll see you in a few hours?” Muffled voices in the background drag his attention away.
“Oh. Right. Of course. I—just—Cameron?”
“Yeah?”
“This might not be a big deal to you, but it’s a big deal to me. Really, truly, I mean my thanks.” What I’m really trying to say is that I don’t have many friends and his thoughtfulness makes me feel less alone. The little connections in my life make the task of pushing through the days less burdensome.
As if he hears my unspoken words, Cameron’s voice dips reverently. “You’re welcome, Violet.”
A shiver rolls down my spine as he disconnects the call and I’m left holding the phone in confusion.
What was that all about?
Cameron
During the season, we play almost every second day. That means I spend less time training and working out than I do recovering. The goalie plays all sixty minutes of the game. I’m
not always in the middle of the action, but my mind needs to be razor sharp, tracking the players, the puck, and the pulse of the game. Out on the ice, I’m in complete control. You don’t get to be one of the league’s best goalies (Hell, who am I kidding? Best fucking goalie. Period) without tremendous self-discipline.
The team has an extra day off. Thus, we’re on the rink finishing a practice. Tucker, no longer a rookie and now an integral part of the Scrapers game plan, wants to practice shots on goal. He’s the top scorer on our team and we grab extra time together whenever we can to practice. The remaining members of the team trail off the ice for the weight room. I’m poised in front of the goal, tracking Tucker’s strides. He glides effortlessly toward me, pauses, rears back, and crack! The black rubber disk whips toward me at upwards of seventy miles per hour.
“Not this time, rookie,” I goad when the puck bounces off the edge of the goal.
“Fuck off, old man,” Tucker grumbles. His helmet twists to the right and I follow to what’s captured his attention.
Violet?
My little dog walker furiously taps on an iPad where she sits on the second row of the bleachers surrounding half of the rink. She has her hair in one of those complicated braid things again. Even though thick gloves cover them, my fingers itch to release the rich strands from their confinement. She’s gorgeous no matter what but keeping that hair tied up is a damn crime.
“You know that chick?” Tucker asks.
She’s not some chick. That’s Violet and you couldn’t wipe dog shit off the bottom of her shoes. “Show some fucking respect,” I bark. It must be loud enough for Violet to hear because she peers up from her work. She lifts her hand in a sheepish wave when she spots me and mouths a greeting. Waving with a dense white glove would probably make me look like a friggin’ doofus, so I jerk my chin in response.
Tucker parks himself in front of me, leaning on the top of his stick. “Oh, I see now.”
“You see nothing,” I scoff.
Oh, shit. Can Violet tell I’m attracted to her? The insecurity is fleeting. Not a chance. I’m smooth as hell.
And then all my confidence disintegrates. Some punk ass douchebag strolls into my house like he owns the place. The guy’s got long hair, covered by a gray beanie. He’s wearing a leather jacket like some wannabe biker. Violet shoots to her feet when she spots him smiling like this dude just made her day.
What. The. Fuck.
“Shake it off, man. Your panties are showing,” Tucker jokes. He shoves my shoulder then skates back to his place at center ice.
The douchebag is only there a minute when Bob Feldman, the lighting and tech guy from the Chicago Center, appears. Violet greets him with the same exuberance and then the three huddle together on the bleachers. Violet speaks emphatically, gesturing and pointing around the arena.
Thwack! The blade of my stick slams against the ice. I grunt in Tucker’s direction, indicating I’m ready. My instincts assume control and Violet’s a distant thought in the background. I’m in the zone and nothing Tucker can do will get the puck past me.
Dozens of shots later, Tucker begs off and skates to the side of the rink where our water bottles are. My robotic trance breaks and I’m breathing heavily from the exertion. I follow my teammate, pushing the grill of my helmet onto my forehead. Immediately, I track Violet. She seems to be wrapping up with the douchebag. He’s standing and putting his jacket back on.
“Stone.”
Violet’s friend Felix sidles up next to where I’m hovering like a freaking stalker.
“What’s up, man?” I force myself to look at the guy wearing a backward Chicago Fire Department hat. Felix introduces himself to Tucker then props a hip on the sideboard, catching what has caught my attention.
“You got eyes for my girl?”
His girl? Tension coils between my shoulder blades. It doesn’t stem from my workout. I’m bristling because Violet belongs to no one.
“Doesn’t matter if I have eyes on her. She’s not available,” I answer curtly, well aware of Tucker’s gaze ping-ponging between Felix and me.
“True enough.” Silence hangs heavily between us. I can sense Felix has more to say. Normally, I don’t want for anyone, but Violet . . . She’s worth my patience.
Violet treads down the bleacher steps carefully. Douchebag follows behind, and I’m pleased to see he’s not checking out her ass like I would if I had that view. She rises to her toes and hugs him quickly then watches the guy prowl off like a feline.
“But one day she will be available and when it happens, you got my vote for best candidate.”
Wait.
What?
I whip back to look at Felix, who’s smiling at Violet as though he didn’t just give me the green light. I don’t need anyone’s permission to do anything, but Felix’s approval ignites something in me. Hope. Like one day, this girl could actually be with me. Like one day, she’ll want to date again. Like one day, I won’t have to fantasize about Violet. One day she could be my reality.
“Hey, you. You’re early,” Violet says when she approaches us. Felix slings an arm around her shoulders and squeezes her to his side.
“And it’s a damn good thing I did show up early. Who was that and why are you keeping him from me?” Felix says.
Good question.
Violet looks toward the dome of the arena and elbows her friend in the ribs. “I work with Dex.”
“Yeah, I’d like to work him, too,” Felix mutters.
Violet blushes furiously, her cheeks turning a pale pink, but she’s smiling and I find myself grinning back at her.
“How was practice? I hope we didn’t disturb you. When I checked the schedule, Coach said no one would be on the ice during this time,” Violet rushes to explain to me.
“No worries, we hardly noticed you.” Mr. Smooth? Yeah, I’m a liar. “Violet, this is Tucker. Tucker, this is Violet. She’s planning the fundraiser we have in January.”
“Ah, the lovely Violet—” The schmuck leans over the half wall separating the ice from the bleachers, dangling his gloves over the board near Violet.
“Yo, V!” We all freeze. Douchebag strolls back into the rink and over to where we’re standing. “What you up to tonight, babe?”
My hands tighten into fists. Who does this prick think he is, talking to her like that? Violet’s not some babe.
“No plans,” she says.
“Come out with me. We’re going to a bar on the South Loop. Very chill. Bring your friends.” The douchebag’s eyes aren’t on Violet at all when he speaks. He’s laser-focused on Felix. Dude is hungry. Then he winks. Right there, making a play for Felix without a care in the world. Meanwhile, the rest of us are fucking riveted by the exchange. Silent.
“Cool. That sounds fun. Text me the details.” Violet’s words are slow while she watches Felix smirk confidently at the guy I used to think was a douchebag and now know is jonesin’ for another type of fix.
Tucker lets out a low whistle. “Damn. Boy’s got game.”
“We’re going. You have no choice. This is happening tonight,” Felix says once the guy is gone.
“What about the hot cop?” Violet asks with a raised brow.
“Hot cop has lock jaw. I’m done with him.”
Now I can’t hold back my laughter. I prop my hand on my stick, shaking my head back and forth. “Man, you don’t have a filter.”
“That’s what people love about me. I wouldn’t be laughing, hockey dudes. You’re coming with us. Violet’s my wingman, which means she’ll need someone to hang out with because there’s no question that I’m making that happen tonight. You in?” Felix says deadpan.
“I’ve got nothing going on. Tuck?” That was eager of me. What do I care? I have Felix’s blessing. He’s practically rolling out the red carpet to Violet, and I’m not missing any opportunity to get to know her better. The look I shoot my teammate allows no room to disagree, and he hastily agrees. He owes me for all the times I kept him out of trouble in h
is first season with the team.
We decide that Violet will text me later and I’ll rally Tucker to meet at the bar. When we skate off the ice a few minutes later, there’s a renewed sense of urgency in my strides.
“You got it bad, dude,” Tucker says under his breath.
I don’t bother to respond.
“What’s the deal with you and this chick?” Tucker asks later that night.
With a game tomorrow night, neither of us plans to drink tonight. I’m driving toward the bar where Violet and Felix are probably waiting. It hit me today like a punch to the gut: I’m not myself around Violet. She brings out weakness, and I am not a man known for being weak. I follow her around all patient and submissive. No more of that.
“Absolutely nothing,” I say shortly, paying more attention to parallel parking my car than to the passenger.
“Doesn’t seem that way. Is she the reason why you haven’t been as interested in female company when we’re on the road?”
I scrub my hand across my face in frustration. “You probably don’t understand because you’re new to this life, but the random women start to get old. And I’m trying to figure shit out in my life. At some point, I need to move on. Maybe settle down or something.”
Tucker clamps an open palm on my shoulder. He bends at the waist, laughing uncontrollably. “If you weren’t playing so fuckin’ well, I’d say we’ve got a case of the body snatchers. You? Settle down? You’re the one who never stays attached to a woman. That threesome in Denver never would have happened without you pointing those chicks out to me. Don’t tell me that you’re giving up the game. That’s just not right.”
Lifting my shoulder, I shrug off his grip. “People change.”
Have I changed? I’m all mixed up. Every time I see Violet, all I think about is staring into those fathomless navy eyes—making her smile and spending time with her. But that’s not the man I’ve known myself to be. Tucker, the insufferable prick, is right in some ways. Even if I don’t factor Violet into the equation, I am tired of having a different woman in my bed every trip. I’m thirty-one and nearing my next birthday. The tricks that used to be entertaining are losing their luster.
