This is the last fucking place I want to be right now.

In Philadelphia.

At a child’s birthday party, holding some fucking princess tea set under my arm.

I’ve been home for a fucking day. One day and I’m already itching to drive right back to Binghamton, to the hospital and shake some sense into Adalyn.

How the fuck could she just leave like that?

I know I meant more to her. I could see it in her eyes. I could tell from the way she broke down in her car, so why is she turning away from me?

Why is she ignoring my calls and texts?

Because of distance? We can work that out. It’s a minor detail. But the connection we had, that doesn’t come along very often. Hell, I’ve never felt the way I feel about Adalyn for any other woman.

It might have happened fast, I might have attached quickly, but fuck, how could I not? She was so kindhearted, strong, feisty, and so incredibly genuine. She was nothing like the women I’ve met throughout the last year. I love her brain, her crazy wit, her vulnerable looks she’d give me when she was unsure. She seemed interested in me as a person. She could trash talk my brothers. She talked to my mom on the phone, for fuck’s sake. And seemed to enjoy it once she was off the call. And her body? Her fire? She’s a goddess. She was the whole package. She made me feel like myself with no pretense. She showed me I’m more to her than a famous hockey player. At least she did leading up to our last conversation. I still can’t understand how someone can switch from mellow and content, wanting more of me, to agitated and indifferent, desperate to leave. To leave me.

Christ. I rub the outer parts of my eyes with my hand when the door opens. Someone I don’t know greets me with a smile, letting me know the party is in the back. I could have guessed that from the noise spreading to the street when I pulled up.

Handing over the gift, I make my way to the back of the house where I find Calder standing at the grill, looking like a master in command.

A flash of pink catches my eye, shooting across the pavement of the pool area. Shea, Calder’s daughter, is bouncing on her feet asking her dad when Uncle Hayden is going to arrive. I should be touched, warmed to the core, but I feel nothing.

But because I have to, I put on a happy face and grab Shea by the waist.

“Right now.” Shea squeals loudly. “Were you worried I wasn’t going to come?” I spin her around for a few turns.

“You’re late.”

“I know, please forgive me.”

Shea ridiculously sighs. “Fine, only this time, though.”

“Thank God.” I smile devilishly at the little girl, one thing on my mind. I start walking toward the pool, and Shea understands her fate in seconds.

“No, no, no.” She laughs, squirming in my arms.

“Oh, it’s going to happen, little girl. Get ready, you’re about to get wet.” Like the “uncle” I am, I count to three then toss a bathing-suit-wearing Shea into the pool, who luckily, knows how to swim.

Dusting my hands off, I come face to face with Calder’s grilling spatula. “You realize you started a war, right? And Rachel is ALWAYS on Shea’s side. It’s hell, man.”

I grab a beer from the cooler next to the grill and say, “Oh please, you fucking love it.”

“I do.”

Speaking of Rachel, she walks up to Calder, a plate of patties in her hand, a glittering ring on her finger. I wasn’t surprised when Calder told me he proposed in New York City. I’m seriously happy for them.

“Hayden, I’m so glad you could make it. Where’s Adalyn? Did she have to work?”

Taking a giant gulp of my beer, I nod. “Yeah. Work.”

“Ugh, that stinks. I really wanted her to meet Shea. I think they would get along so well.”

There’s one vital thing you need to know about Calder. When it’s off-season, Calder shuts himself off from the world and he spends every waking moment with his family. He turns off his phone, leaving his landline open for emergencies, and steps away from social media and everything that has to do with hockey. The only routine he keeps is his workouts, because that’s a requirement as a professional athlete.

So I’m not surprised when Calder doesn’t mention my trade, or that Rachel is talking about Adalyn as if our world wasn’t flipped upside down with the news of my relocation.

This is going to be hard. I thought telling Adalyn I got traded was going to be difficult, but having to let my best friend know I won’t be sharing the same logo on my jersey as him . . . Fuck, I’m going to hate every second of this.

And then there was my family. My parents immediately called me, understandably upset about the news and me having to move so far away. My mom cried for far too long on the phone.

Will Calder cry? Nah, he’ll be upset though.

No one expected it, a rookie with a stellar first year to be traded. It’s almost unheard of, but it fucking happened. And all I can do is bend over and take it up the ass.

“Uh, hey I have to tell you two something.”

“What?” Rachel brings her arms around Calder’s waist, holding on to him tightly. Her face falls flat when she takes in my demeanor. “Oh no, did something happen with Adalyn? Did you two break up?”

Why are women so goddamn intuitive? There is no way I would be able to pick up on something that well. I swear, there are women out there that are mind readers, Rachel being one of them.

“Yeah, we did.”

“Nooo,” Rachel drags on, disappointment in her voice. “Why? You two were perfect together. I really liked her.” Calder gives Rachel a squeeze, silently telling her to cool it. It doesn’t work. “Did you talk to her about possibly moving to Philly? Was that it?”

I guzzle the second half of my beer and shake my head. “No, I asked her to move to Los Angeles.”

“Los Angeles? Why the hell would you ask her to move there?”

Glancing at Calder, I catch the understanding in his eyes before he closes them tightly and mutters under his breath. “Shit.”

“What? What’s happening?” Rachel looks between the two of us.

“I’ve been traded, Rach.” I reach into the cooler and pop open another beer.

“Traded? What the hell for?”

Running my tongue over my teeth, I say, “My agent thinks it’s from the last game, my temper, and the press conference after. The owner didn’t like it and traded me.”

“Because of one game? That’s . . . that’s . . . preposterous. Oh my God, they are such morons. You were the best rookie last season, and you led the league in goals.” Rachel begins to slow clap obnoxiously. “Good job, Brawlers, way to get rid of a future Hall of Famer because he was mad about losing.”

If I wasn’t so fucking black inside right now, I might have laughed from how outrageous Rachel is acting.

“That is so . . .” She pauses, her eyes traveling to the sky, thinking for a brief moment. “Uh . . . Calder, does this mean you can be traded?”

He shakes his head, bringing his beer to his lips. “I have a no-trade clause in my contract, so we’re good, babe.”

“Ugh, why didn’t you have that in your contract?” Rachel asks.

“He was a rookie, Rach. It wasn’t an option.”

“This is such bullshit.” Tell me about it. “So you’re going to the Quakes? In Los Angeles? That’s so far away?” A light bulb must go off in her head. “And that’s why Adalyn and you broke up?”

Gulping down some more beer, I say, “That’s why she broke it off with me.” I swallow hard. “It’s why she said what we had was just a fling.”

“She said that?” Calder asks, looking genuinely surprised. Join the club, man. “Didn’t seem like a fling when we were in the city.”

“It wasn’t.” I shake my head, the beer bottle posed at my lips. “It wasn’t to me.”

“And it wasn’t to her,” Rachel adds. “There was more to it than a fling for her, so don’t you believe her for one second about that.”

“I don’t know.” I take a seat in a bar stool. “She was pretty quick to leave.” Sighing, my shoulders slouched, the beer hanging between my legs now. “It doesn’t matter anymore. She said she didn’t want to move. I have no choice. It’s over.” In less than twelve hours, two important and life-changing choices were denied me. You’d think being a professional athlete some things should stay in my control. Clearly I have that all wrong, because nothing is in my control. And that fucking sucks.

Calder and Rachel exchange glances, pained and sullen. They don’t have to say anything else. I know how much this sucks, how much I wish my life were playing out differently right now but unfortunately when your profession is at the mercy of others, there is nothing that can be done. And as much I wish Adalyn were by my side, I’m not about to give up hockey to try to make things work with a girl who seems to have given up on what we had. Without hesitation.

We had an epic few days together, but within twenty-four hours of being back, she was done. Done. Yes, there were tears, but at the first mention of the trade she made up her mind. Was she right? Was it inevitable? Even if I stayed in Philly? Would she have given us up even if I stayed? Had I read her completely wrong during the time we were together?

If she’s not going to answer any of my messages, why bother? Move on. As much as I hate that term and the pain it’s going to cause me, I have to do it. She doesn’t want me. Maybe she never did.

I have to turn the page, mentally say goodbye to the girl I cherished, and start a new chapter.

Smog.

It’s everywhere.

It’s suffocating.

It’s dirty and fucking depressing. It’s a representation of my life. A dark cloud hanging over a bright spot.

This should be exciting for me, or so I was told by my agent. A new city, a new team, a new chance to dominate.

But I have no desire to look on the bright side, not when my finger hovers over Adalyn’s number every day. Not when my mom continuously calls me to cry into the phone, not when I have absolutely zero friends here.

I’ve been in Los Angeles for three weeks and there is nothing I like about it.

I’ve met some of the guys on the Quakes, and they’re cool and all, but I came from a team that was one game away from playing for the championship to a team with the worst record in the league.

Worst fucking record.

It’s not like this trade was an upgrade for me. It was a kick to the goddamn balls.

Sitting in my high-rise apartment, my legs kicked up on my coffee table, I survey the smog-soaked air, going over an interview I had this morning at a local TV station. Good Morning, Malibu. The hosts, Noely and Dylan, were nice, both huge hockey fans, super excited about me being here. Hell, every Quakes fan is ecstatic, and it’s nice to be welcomed so warmly. We talked about random things; Dylan seemed to want to get me to talk more to Noely but luckily, before things could get super awkward, I had to leave for another radio interview.

Could have been worse. Could have been like the interview yesterday where the girl tried to grab my crotch when I went in for a handshake.

Sighing, I unlock my phone and bring up Adalyn’s contact information.

What is she doing right now? Working? Hanging out with Logan?

That fucking shithead. He couldn’t have given me the chance to tell Adalyn myself? No, he had to be the turd that he is and open his mouth. Just goes to show you the kind of guy he is. And the look on his face at the hospital. He was gloating. Especially when he walked away prophesying Adalyn wouldn’t be my girlfriend for much longer. He knew what he was doing. Clearly he knows Adalyn better than I do too, because he was spot on. Not even twelve hours later and she was gone.

And do you know what’s driving me insane? How different my outcome would have been if I had been the one who told Adalyn. I don’t think she would have had the chance to doubt what we have, to convince herself this was a fling.

Would we still be together? Fuck, at this point I’m going to say no. She won’t answer my calls. She won’t acknowledge any of my texts, not even when I told her I made it to LA safely. It’s like she’s completely forgotten about me.

Maybe I read her wrong. Maybe I really was a fling to her.

Fuck.

Leaning my head against the back of my sofa, I sit in silence.

Alone.

So fucking alone.

Bringing my phone to my eyes, I press on Calder’s name, calling it for the third time this week.

“Hey man, how’s the sunshine?”

“Shitty.”

“Still not feeling it?”

“I don’t know, man.” I drag my hand over my face. “I’m in such a fucking funk right now. Training starts next week, and if I don’t show up on the ice ready to prove myself, none of the guys are going to think I’m worth the paycheck the Quakes forked out.”

Yeah, the trade came with a nice pay rise, but that’s meaningless to me. How could I enjoy more money when I have no one to share it with? I couldn’t care less about the money.

“Is it Adalyn?”

“Fuck . . . it is.”

“Hayden, dude, you have to let go. It’s been weeks and she’s said nothing to you.”

“I know. I know.”

“Go on a date. That morning show you were on earlier. Rachel was telling me the girl is part of this dating app called Going in Blind. Sounded like something pretty legit. Maybe you should try it.”

This makes me laugh. Straight up throw my head back and laugh.

“I’m serious. You might meet someone.”

“On a fucking dating app? Dude, I am so not a dating app kind of guy.”

“Really? Because I could totally see you doing it. The excitement you get when you’re matched, treating the girl out to a nice meal, acting like the goddamn gentleman that you are.”

He has a point. But a dating app? In a city where I know no one? Not a good idea.

“Calder, I could easily get shanked. Is that what you want? For me to get shanked now that I’m your competition?”

“Why do you immediately think someone is going to try to kill you?”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” I say in a condescending voice. “Maybe because I’m a professional athlete, maybe because yesterday some random girl tried to grab my balls, maybe because the dating circuit is crazy and you never know who you’re truly meeting. For all we know, the person could have a clean record, look absolutely normal, but in real life, she collects the heads of cats and pets them every night before she goes to bed.”

There is silence on the other end of the phone before Calder says, “Wow, way to exaggerate. You took it straight to headless cats. Dude, you need to get out more. Hence the dating app.”

“I’m not doing a dating app. That is one of the worst ideas you’ve ever had.”

“Suit yourself. But I’m going to tell you right now, it would help me out.”

Stretching my neck side to side, I ask, “How would it help you out?”

“Because, instead of having to sit here and have hour-long conversations with you on the phone, you could be out on a date, sweating over if she’s going to shank you or not.”

Chuckling, I ask, “Getting sick of these phone calls?”

“Not me. Rachel.” Lowering his voice, he adds, “She now refers to you as my secret lover.”

“Sounds about right. No offense, but it’s either you or my mom at this point, and my mom ends up crying every time I talk to her.”

“And your brothers?”

“They have their heads so far up their asses, I’m not sure they know what the hell is going on around them.”

“So that leaves me.”

“Yup.”

Calder pauses. “I’m signing you up for that dating app.”

“Fuck you, man.” We both laugh. The sound is nice and sheds a little brightness on my gloomy fucking day.