West

The client Jesse is after me to talk to is Eddy Madden, a goalie for Philly, who spent fifteen years in the league before he shattered his Achilles and was forced to retire. He didn’t say all that in the message he left me last night. He just mentioned his first and last name, and I knew the rest. Philly is one of Boston’s biggest rivals, and I played against Eddy for years. I remember seeing the footage of him getting carried off the ice. It was something all the guys watched and hoped like hell it wouldn’t happen to us.

Five years later, it was my turn to get carried off.

Eddy called while I was at Piper’s, probably around the time when I first stuck my finger in her ass. Had I not been at her place, I would have answered the phone.

Seeing that it’s before seven and too early to call him now, I get dressed and go into the bathroom to wash up. Tilly’s still asleep when I come out. Her bare leg is hanging off the bed, hair fanning across the pillow, the profile of her tit showing me how hard her nipple is.

She sleeps as wild as she fucks.

I kiss her forehead and say, “Going for a run.”

“Mmm,” she groans as she rolls onto her stomach.

The sun is just starting to peek through the clouds as I take my first step onto the sand. Before I begin, I quickly raise my arms over my head and kick my heels toward my ass, stretching each of my limbs. My runs are different now than when I first moved to Florida. Weeks ago, I pounded the beach until my calves ached, and it hurt to breathe. Now, I’m here to see her.

Fucking Piper.

The more time I spend with her, the harder it is to get her out of my head.

It’s been a long time since I thought about a woman this much.

With Tilly, we went at it the night I met her. We tore off each other’s clothes in the elevator, and I was inside her pussy before we were even through the door of my condo. It was hot from the beginning. But she wasn’t on my mind as much; she was just there. Always there. And, when we were together, I was inside her. It continued that way until she got pregnant.

That was the moment we both paused and realized things between us were about to change.

She didn’t have a doctor; she didn’t even have health insurance. I had both, and with my connections, she could have the best prenatal care in the city. So, we went to the courthouse and got hitched. It wasn’t anything fancy, definitely not romantic, but I made up for it by giving her four carats and a two-week honeymoon in Hawaii.

Shit was good between us.

Her belly was getting bigger, her cheeks filled out, and her ass was nice and thick. Damn, she was so horny when she was knocked up.

But, shortly after we returned from Hawaii, she lost him.

Asher West.

He had a name and blue fucking walls in his nursery with a stuffed giraffe in the corner by his crib.

Her doctor said it wasn’t that uncommon to lose a baby in the second trimester. It wasn’t anything Tilly had done; it just happened. And, before we left the appointment, he said we could try again in a few months.

As soon as she could, Tilly had an IUD put in.

We weren’t going back to that place for a long time, and we both agreed on that.

We knew Asher wouldn’t have strengthened our relationship. I’m sure he would have only weakened it. Still, I wanted him. I wished he were on the beach with me right now, that I could wake up to his cries and take him to his first hockey game.

Now, a good amount of time has passed, and I’m no closer to wanting a kid. Especially given that I’m on the beach, looking for the woman I slept with last night. But, when I reach the spot where we usually pass each other, she isn’t there.

I stop and jog in place, looking in the distance to see if she’s heading this way. I don’t see her, so I check behind me in case I somehow missed her.

She isn’t there either.

I keep on going and slow again when I reach her place. Her patio door’s closed, but the lights are on in the kitchen, so I know someone’s awake. Even though I have my phone with me, I don’t shoot her a text. There’s too much of a risk of Cannon seeing it, and I don’t want that to happen.

So, I keep on running past her house and turn around just before I get to Tilly’s parents’ business. I still haven’t given her dad an answer on buying him out, and that isn’t a conversation I want to have this morning.

When I get back on my patio, I take a seat to catch my breath and stare at the phone in my hand. Eddy’s message said to call him anytime. It’s still pretty early, but I don’t want to put too much thought into it and worry about some of the shit he might bring up, and I certainly don’t want to forget.

I scroll until I find his number and press it.

“West,” he says as he answers, “I’m glad you called.”

I rest my elbows on my knees and stare at my feet. “Is this a good time?”

“It’s not even six in the morning, and I’m just pouring my first cup. But, yeah, this works for me.”

Damn it, I didn’t even consider the time difference in Denver where Jesse had told me Eddy now lived.

“Sorry, man, I forgot how early it is out there.”

“It sounds like you’ve been working out?”

I sit up and lean back into the chair, trying to stop myself from huffing into the phone. “I just got back from a run.”

“Let me guess. You’re beating the hell out of your body, doing three workout sessions a day? You’re trying to make sense of where you’re supposed to be, but you have no idea, and you don’t think you ever will?”

I close my eyes and shake my head. “How’d you know?”

He laughs, but it doesn’t sound like he thinks what I said was funny; it’s more like he’s in agreement with me.

“That’s why we’re on the phone, brother. I know what that feels like all too well.”

“Tell me it gets better.”

“Much.” I hear him swallow his coffee. “You’re always going to miss the league, the guys, the camaraderie, the competition, and you’ll always want to return to the ice. Nothing will ever take its place or fill that void. But you will find a purpose again. Something else is out there for you, West. I promise, there’s life after hockey.”

Once he was forced to retire, Eddy took a few years off, and then he became a commentator for several of the networks. Now, he travels the country and talks shop with other athletes and analysts. He is as close to hockey as he can get without being on the ice. I’m sure he isn’t commentating for the money. He was one of the highest-paid goalies in the league. I assume he does it to be close to the sport he loves.

“So, you’re telling me to consider some of the jobs Jesse’s offered me?”

“Not yet. You need some time. I really don’t think rushing back out there will help you in any way. You’ve got to let your body heal first, let things settle in your mind. You need to spend some time with your family. Then, once you can differentiate your head from your ass, you can ease into the offers.”

I gaze out at the beach—waiting for the ocean to turn into a rink, for the sand to morph into seats, for the beachgoers to start chanting, Boston! Boston!

But there is no ice, no seats, no chanting.

I take a deep breath and say, “Fuck, man, it’s going to look so different than what I’m used to.”

“I’m not going to sugarcoat it; it’s going to look a hell of a lot different. But, when things become right again, you’ll know where you’re supposed to be and what you should be doing. You won’t have to weigh your options.”

I believe him.

It doesn’t feel that way right now. Shit, maybe it will take years before I feel like myself again. But there has to be life after hockey.

“I appreciate this, Eddy. I didn’t think talking about it would help, but it has.”

Jesus, Jesse was right when he said I needed this. My agent knows I’m not one to open up to a stranger, but Eddy doesn’t feel like one at all.

“You haven’t spoken to anyone about it, have you?”

I glance over my shoulder. There still aren’t any lights on. “Not really.”

“I get it. Completely.”

I move to the end of the deck, leaning my arms on the wooden banister. “Would you be up for having another chat? Maybe in a few weeks?”

“Even better, why don’t we plan on doing this once a week? If for no other reason than I can bitch to you about the standings and how Boston is kicking Philly’s ass.”

I still haven’t checked the standings or watched a single game or scanned the injury reports. Whenever my old teammates check in, I cut them off before they can talk shop.

But I miss it.

Goddamn it, I miss it.

The knot in the pit of my stomach clenches at the thought of my boys beating Philly.

“I like that idea,” I answer.

“Same time next week?”

“Yeah, man, that works. I’ll give you a call.”

“I look forward to it,” he says.

And we both hang up.