Drew

“Andrew,” a soothing female voice says as I enter the cozy office in Boston’s Back Bay. “Thank you so much for taking the time to meet with me today.” Alice smiles at me warmly.

“No, thank you.”

She gestures down the hallway and I walk beside her toward her office. I can’t help but smile as I recall how much has changed since the last time I walked this path, Brooklyn at my side. At the time, I was just grateful she didn’t kick me out when I barged into her office, begging for help. Never in a million years could I have imagined we’d be where we are, days from finally being together.

Once I enter the office, Alice gestures to a small sitting area, steering me from the formality of the desk where we spoke at our last meeting. I sit down, rubbing the back of my neck, praying she has some good news.

“So, tell me,” she says, lowering herself onto the love seat, “How are the girls doing? You mentioned you planned to tell them this past weekend.”

“Yes.” My legs bounce as I run my hands down my pants. I wish I had asked Brooklyn to be here with me, but she’s already stressed about her caseload as it is. I didn’t want to add to that any more than I already have. “They took the news alarmingly well. Based on your and Brooklyn’s advice, I spoke to the counselor at the girls’ school to inform her of the situation.”

“Good.”

“I expected Charlotte to handle the news badly, but she’s bouncing back.”

“And Alyssa?” She arches a brow.

I blow out a long breath, tugging on my tie. “It’s too early to tell with Alyssa. She says she’s okay, but… I don’t know. She’s not her usual self. I want to say she’s just having an off day, but I don’t think that’s it.”

Alice nods, assessing this news. “Alyssa is older. She probably has some memories of her mother. This may bring up some of those memories of being abandoned that have lain dormant since she left.”

“Brooklyn mentioned the same thing. She reached out to a child therapist she knows. I have an appointment for both girls to see her this week. We have plans for them to continue seeing her at least once a week to ensure they learn to cope with the changes that are coming. I’ve cut back my hours at the college. Thankfully, our hockey season is over, so I don’t have to worry about all the practices and games. I’ve also had the assistant coaches take over the scouting trips I had planned. Right now, it’s more important that I stick around for my girls.”

“Good. That will all work in your favor. We want to demonstrate you’re a constant presence in those girls’ lives.” She smiles, then her expression turns solemn. “Which brings me to the next thing we need to discuss.” She opens a file folder sitting on the coffee table and hands me what appears to be a court pleading. “This is our response to the request for custody modification. Now, it’s standard procedure to go through mediation first, as you’re probably aware from your divorce. In family law cases, you usually only see a judge if the parties can’t come to any agreement after multiple mediation sessions. This motion will still be filed and a court date set, which is when we’ll meet with the mediator, unless the parties can come to an agreement beforehand.” She pauses as her gaze rakes over me, hesitant. “I believe it’s in our best interest to offer Carla visitation with both girls.”

“What?” I shoot back, eyes wide, muscles tense. “No. Absolutely not. I swore I’d never let her hurt them again.”

“I understand your frustration,” Alice replies calmly. “But they’re her kids, too. The court will only refuse visitation to a biological parent in the instance of abuse or severe neglect.”

“I’d say abandoning them for six years would qualify as severe neglect,” I mutter under my breath. I knew this was a likelihood. I even inferred as much when I told the girls the truth. But I thought we’d fight harder, not offer them on a silver platter right off the bat. I want to see that Carla truly does want to be a part of their lives, that she’ll do whatever it takes to spend time with them. How will I know that’s the case if we agree to her demands immediately?

“You may, but the court won’t, not when she left them in the care of someone who is exceedingly capable. And you want the court to consider you more than capable of caring for those children, considering that’s going to help you maintain at least partial custody of Charlotte. Agreeing to visitation will also help to that end.”

I grind my teeth at the idea of sharing these girls with Carla. For the past six years, it’s just been us. I can’t imagine having to drop them off for weekends with their mother, walking into a lifeless house, waking up to something other than their excited squeals and giggles.

“I’m not suggesting we allow the girls to spend extended periods of time with her. Not right away. They don’t know her. To begin with, we’ll agree to supervised visitations at pre-arranged times with you present. However, there needs to be a plan in place to slowly allow her unsupervised time with the girls once an assessment has been made and a neutral party at DCF determines she’s capable of caring for them.”

I bite my lip, my face heating, my muscles constricting. Sensing my frustration, Alice reaches across the coffee table, clutching my hand in hers. I fling my gaze to her.

“I understand you’re angry at your ex for abandoning you. And none of this will change your request for non-parental custody of Charlotte. We will still do everything to keep her under your care, even if that custody is split with your ex. But in my experience, putting into motion a plan to grant her time with her own children is the best option to get all parties on the path to healing. Those girls should have the opportunity to get to know their mother, don’t you think? Don’t you think everyone deserves a second chance?”

I swallow hard at her words. As much as I want to say no, I can’t, not when I’ve been granted my own second chance, one I’ve been yearning for. I like to think I’ve changed since my hockey days. Maybe Carla has, too.

“If you truly think this is the best option, I’ll defer to your judgment.” My voice is low as I pray this is the right course of action. I know the law’s on Carla’s side. It doesn’t make it any easier, though.

Having spent more time going over strategy with Alice than I originally planned, I find myself running to my next meeting. I hurry through the lobby of the tall building in the Financial District, rushing into a waiting elevator. As I ride up to the thirtieth floor, I check my watch. Quarter after six. The second the elevator doors open and I step into the posh reception area, the woman sitting behind the extravagant desk greets me with a smile.

“Mr. Brinks, so wonderful to see you again.”

I should remember her name, but it’s been quite a few years since I’ve come here. It’s been quite a few years since I needed to be here. Usually, the endorsement and commentating gigs haven’t been of such a huge magnitude as to require me to sit down with my agent. But the opportunity to be head coach for the Bruins is a different offer, one that could increase my salary to a comfortable seven figures a year.

“You, as well.”

“Mr. Acosta is expecting you.” She stands, heading around the desk toward me. “I’ll show you in.”

“Thank you.”

She smiles, then turns toward the hallway to her right, walking with purpose. I follow her down the long corridor. Everything is glass and light, modern colors. Framed pictures of the biggest names in sports hang on the walls, a photographic résumé of the stars Daniel Acosta has represented over the years, myself included. It’s a name you hear often when you’re first climbing the ladder in professional sports. You hope for the day he’ll agree to meet with you, let alone cold-call with an offer to represent you, which was what happened with me.

The day after the game that changed my career, turning me from a player who rarely saw any ice time to a household name overnight, I received a phone call from this man. At first, I thought it was just a joke, a friend playing a prank on me. Sure enough, it was Daniel Acosta wanting to represent me, saying if I signed with him, he’d set me up with endorsement deals that could net me another several million a year. Although I had to leave the game six years ago, he’s kept those endorsement deals coming in, pocketing himself a nice fifteen percent.

Over the years, he’s proven himself to be reliable, trustworthy, and honest, advising me against some offers, regardless that it would earn him some money. He’s always looked out for what’s best for me, which was why he was the first call I made when the manager of the Bruins reached out a few weeks ago, asking for a meeting to discuss coaching the team. It’s not something he’s typically involved in, but I trust him to steer me in the right direction, to tell me if I’m making a colossal mistake.

The blonde receptionist knocks on the large wooden door at the end of the hallway before opening it.

“Mr. Acosta, Mr. Brinks has arrived.” She steps aside, allowing me to enter the lush office.

It’s an enormous space, decorated in understated elegance. A large desk sits in front of an expanse of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline. The rest of the room contains a sitting area with a couch, love seat, and a few chairs, as well as a wet bar. But the most impressive part of this office is the wall that’s made up entirely of dozens of TV screens, each one showing a different game, from European soccer, to college softball, to the Celtics game. This isn’t even his main office. His offices in New York and Los Angeles are double the size of this one, with an even more impressive video wall.

“Andrew!” Daniel bellows, standing from the couch where he’s currently sitting, sipping on an amber liquid. “So good to see you.”

“Thanks for meeting with me. I apologize for being late. My last meeting ran longer than I expected. Then traffic getting here was crazy because of the Celtics game tonight.” I gesture to one of the large panels displaying tonight’s pre-game show.

“No worries. It gave me a chance to look over the contract Pat Winters sent over. Shall we?” Daniel gestures to the chair at the head of the coffee table, the love seat on one side, the couch on the other. “Drink?”

“No. I’m fine.” I sit, steeling myself for what I must do. If this meeting had occurred a few weeks ago, the outcome would have been different. But things have changed. It doesn’t make it any easier to turn down what amounts to any former hockey player’s dream job.

“I understand Parker Hobbs spoke with you about why Winters has been trying to get a meeting with you these past several months.”

“He did,” I say, rubbing my hands along my pants. “Probably wants to make sure he still has a job after this season.”

My response garners a polite laugh from Daniel. I study him, a predator in his natural habitat. Crisp designer suit, a Rolex on his wrist, and shoes made by someone whose name I can’t even pronounce. It’s all about appearances with him. The more expensive the clothes, the easier it is to get what you want. While I shaved and put on a suit, I still feel underdressed compared to him.

“Well, I’ve had a chance to look at the offer,” Daniel says, reaching for a large stack of papers. “It is quite attractive.” He glances at me. “And lucrative. One of the highest coaching offers I’ve seen.”

“No. The highest,” I correct.

“Ah. So you’ve done your homework.” His mouth turns into a smirk. “Winters is serious and motivated, as evidenced by the high salary and generous stipend for travel expenses and a car, among other benefits.”

“It’s everything I’ve wanted since I was forced into retirement.”

A solemn expression crosses his face as he nods. It doesn’t matter that it’s been six years. It’s a game those in hockey circles often speak about, especially those who were there, like Daniel was.

“Then I recommend accepting. There’s nothing in this that stands out as being fishy. This is genuine, the offer of a lifetime.”

“I know.” I pinch my lips together, my head hanging.

“But?” He arches a brow, sensing my hesitation.

“But I’m not sure the timing is right.”

“How could it not be? I understand the team’s approached you in the past with assistant coaching positions. I can see how those may not be as attractive to you, especially with the lower salary, but this… Head coach? I figured you’d have a boner over the prospect.”

“I’ll be honest. A year ago…hell, a month ago, I would have jumped at the opportunity, but things are…different now.”

“Different? Different how?”

I scrape my hand through my hair, biting the inside of my cheek. “There have been a few recent developments in my personal life that require my full attention.” When he wrinkles his brow, I embellish. “It involves my kids.”

“Is everything okay?”

I readjust my posture in the chair, straightening my spine. “I haven’t told many people, but seeing as you’ve been so gracious as to take the time and meet with me, you deserve an explanation.” I pause, licking my lips. “The truth is, I’m about to be embroiled in what I can only imagine to be an ugly custody battle with Carla.”

“I thought she gave you full custody when she left.” Rubbing his chin, confusion clouds his expression. Other than my immediate family, he’s one of the few people who knows the nitty-gritty details of my divorce.

I nod. “She did. I haven’t heard from her in years. But she’s back and wants to be part of their lives after not having so much as picked up the phone to call in all this time. That I could deal with, I suppose. She is their mother. Mine ran out on us and never attempted to reconnect. At least Carla’s trying.”

“But?” Daniel presses.

I rub my temples, sighing. “I just found out Charlotte, the youngest, isn’t even mine. So she’s asking for shared physical custody of Alyssa and full physical custody of Charlotte. She lied, said she was mine, when this entire time she knew she was—”

“Chase Gardner’s,” he finishes, putting the pieces together. Although he’s my agent, he’s always clued in on the players’ lives, including mine. Hell, the fact my wife left me for Chase Gardner, the man who took my place on the ice just weeks after I officially announced my retirement, was all over the headlines.

“Exactly. So as much as I’d love to say yes, I don’t know if I can. Not right now. I need to put all my effort into making sure those girls stay with me. I’m afraid taking a job that would require extensive traveling may work against me.”

Daniel slumps into his chair, absorbing what I’ve just told him. The mood in the room is more somber than anything. “What can I do to help? Do you need a lawyer?”

“No. One of my good friends works for DCF. She knew who to go see. Granted, she’s not a big shot like Carla’s lawyer, but I don’t care about that. All I care about is having someone represent me who will fight for my rights. So far, she has been.”

“Wait a minute.” Daniel shakes his head. “Carla has a big shot lawyer?”

“Yeah. It seemed odd to me, too. I haven’t kept tabs. Maybe they’re doing it pro bono or something. Based on the financials that came with the petition for custody, she’s not exactly making a lot of money.”

He ponders this for a moment as he pinches his chin between his thumb and forefinger. I can see the wheels spinning in his head, which is never a good thing. “Who’s her lawyer?” he asks finally.

“I don’t remember off the top of my head.” I reach into my pocket, retrieving my phone. After scrolling through my emails, I find the one with the attached PDF of the petition. Opening the file, I look at the heading. “Hollis and Galloway.”

Daniel blinks repeatedly. “Are you sure about that?”

“Of course.” I show him the screen. “Says it right there, doesn’t it? I may have been knocked on the head a few times, but I can still read,” I joke.

“Huh.” He stares off into the distance, not laughing. He’s usually an easy-going guy, except in negotiations. He likes to be everyone’s best friend, as long as you give him what he wants. He’s a typical agent, able to smile and schmooze even the most standoffish person. “You’d think there’d be some sort of conflict of interest. There’s certainly the appearance of one.”

I scrunch my brows. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“Graham Hollis,” he urges, his tone indicating I should know what he’s talking about.

“Sorry.” I blink, still just as confused, the name not ringing any bells. “Am I supposed to know who that is, other than someone who’s a partner at the firm Carla hired?”

“Yeah, you should. You’ve been dating Skylar Jensen, correct?”

My curiosity only increases with this line of questioning, a ball of dread forming in the pit of my stomach. “I’m not so sure I’d classify it as dating, but yeah. We were seeing each other off and on over the past several months. I broke things off a few weeks ago.”

“Graham Hollis is her step-brother. He’s an agent, as well as a sports and entertainment lawyer. In the past few years, he’s branched out into a little family law, mainly representing their clients in divorces since these things can be more complicated than a typical divorce.”

My jaw grows slack as I process this piece of information, trying to figure out what it means. A sinking feeling settles in my core, heat washing over my face, my mind reeling.

“I’m surprised you didn’t know that,” he continues when I remain silent. “Hell, that’s how she got that gig with the Celtics. It certainly wasn’t because she’s a talented dancer. Rumor is there’s a little Cruel Intentions vibe going on between the two of them. It’s a bit off-putting, but based on what I’ve observed, Graham will do anything his step-sister asks of him. And I do mean anything.”

I rewind to the last time I spoke to Skylar, recalling who showed up at my office just a few minutes after she made her dramatic departure when I told her I wasn’t interested in a serious relationship, using my kids as an excuse. My stomach churns, bile rising in my throat, a sour taste in my mouth.

“She… She’s behind this.”

“Who?”

“Skylar.” I swallow hard. “She came to my office, saying she wanted to take our relationship to the next level, one I had absolutely no interest in. Instead of leaving it at that, I said my kids were my priority, that as long as I was still responsible for them I wouldn’t date her…or anyone, for that matter.”

I bury my head in my hands, wondering how I didn’t put two and two together. At first, I thought the universe was merely playing a cruel joke on me. Now I wonder if there’s more to it than that. If this is all the result of two scorned women getting their revenge.

Slowly lifting my eyes back to his, I continue. “No more than a couple seconds after Skylar stormed out, Carla stopped by, asking for visitation with the girls. Hell!” I slam my fist on the side table, my temper rising. “They probably passed each other in the damn hallway!”

“So you think…?”

“It makes sense, doesn’t it?” I jump to my feet, pacing, tugging on my hair. “Every time Skylar brought up taking things to the next level, I always told her I wasn’t interested in a relationship, that I couldn’t put my girls through that. What if…” I stop in my tracks, trying to make sense of this in my scrambled mind. “What if the two of them came up with this plan together? Carla gets time with the girls, and somewhere in Skylar’s fucked-up mind, she thinks it paves her way to having a relationship with me.”

My blood boiling more with every word I speak, I grit my jaw, pacing once more. It’s just a theory, but it couldn’t have been simply a coincidence that they both paid me a visit on the same exact day, at almost the same exact time.

In an instant, everything’s changed. I’m no longer thinking about anything else. Not of Alice’s recommendation to come to an agreement with Carla. Not of the fact that in just a few days, I’ll be able to announce to the world that I’m in love with Brooklyn. All of that seems insignificant to getting to the truth, to learning if my gut is right. That I brought this on myself.

“I need to talk to Skylar.” I glance at the time, seeing it’s a quarter to seven, and curse my luck. “Shit. There’s a game tonight.” I look at the screen showing the pre-game show, spying one of the tall basketball players whose photo hangs on Daniel’s wall of fame. A plan formulating, I whip my eyes toward him, hope building inside me. “Some of your clients play for the Celtics, right?”

“Yes,” he replies guardedly, his brow wrinkled in confusion. Then realization crosses his face. He blows out a breath, resigned. “Fine. I’ll get you into the game. You’d better not start throwing punches around the dancers, though,” he warns. “Some of those girls are my clients, too, and they have modeling contracts that will be canceled in the event of a broken nose.”

“I won’t. As much as she may deserve it, I’d never hit a woman.”

Daniel stands, buttoning his suit jacket. “If Skylar’s behind this, she definitely deserves it.”