West

“That should be everything,” one of the movers says to me, handing me a piece of paper that shows the inventory of what they’ve packed up from our place.

Tilly and I stand in the lobby of our building, watching one of the guys pull a dolly from the freight elevator and load a set of boxes into an eighteen-wheeler. Once he’s outside, I check the list. Hundreds of items are on the sheet—each numbered, categorized by room.

The only things I have left of my career are boxes labeled eighty-nine through one hundred two. They hold my awards, highlight clips, the last jersey and helmet I wore during the game against Calgary. The same ones I was in when I had my career-ending injury. I tried to throw the jersey and helmet away, but Tilly stuck them back in before the boxes were sealed and numbered.

“We’ll see you in Florida,” the same guy says to us. He waits for a nod before he walks out.

Then, my wife turns toward me and wraps her arms around my waist. “Are you ready to do this?”

Ready to give up hockey and leave Boston forever?

Nah, I’m not fucking ready. Not even close.

I’m only twenty-eight. It wasn’t supposed to end this soon. It shouldn’t be over because of an injury. It should be over because I was ready to give it up. But I’m not. I have so much fight left in me.

Shit, I want to fight.

I want to walk into TD Garden, lace up my skates, and hear the fans scream when I step onto the ice. I want to feel the sweat in my gloves and the stick between the thick leather and listen to the sound of the puck slapping against the toe.

But I can’t have any of that.

So, I have to get the hell out of here.

“Yeah,” I say, “let’s go.”

Tilly leads me to the front of the building where a car is waiting to take us to the airport. She steps out first, and I follow behind her. Once the glass door shuts, the crowds on both sides of us close in.

“What the—”

It takes a few seconds before I realize the faces staring back are ones I recognize. It’s my team. They’re holding out their fists, waiting for me to pound them, just like we do on our way through the tunnel as we head toward the ice.

I went to practice the day after I talked to my agent and told the team I wasn’t returning. And, now, they’re here to send me off.

My final walk through the tunnel.

The last time I’ll ever be a part of a team.

I whisper the name of each player as I pass him, and when I reach Viktor, he pulls me in for a hug.

“I’ll be down to visit as soon as we hit the off-season,” he says.

“I know.”

“You’d better have a hell of a tan and a wicked golf game by then.”

“I hate golf.”

“Learn to like it because I’m going to challenge the hell out of your handicap.”

I say nothing.

I can’t.

“You’re going to knock her up and take your son to daycare and coach little league. You’re going to be all right.”

I nod, not wanting any of the things he mentioned, still unable to say a word.

He slaps me on the back, we part, and I climb into the car.

Tilly turns toward me and squeezes my leg. “In six hours, I’m going to be in a bikini, walking through the sand and straight into the water. No more winter coats, baby. No more snow.”

And no more fucking hockey.

Tilly was right. Six hours after we drove to Logan International Airport, her fingers are clung around mine, and she’s dragging me through the sand. She splashes her way into the water, kicking at the waves, diving in when she gets deep enough. She acts like it’s been years since she’s been to the beach. It’s only been a few months. I rent us a house in Cape Cod during the off-season, and I take her to the Caribbean several times a year. Hell, we even went to Bora Bora last summer.

She grew up near the ocean, and it’s where she’s the happiest.

But, besides my cock, I’m not sure what else makes my wife happy.

And that’s something I’m supposed to know.

Once I get chest-deep, she wraps her legs around my waist, hugging my neck with her arms. “You’re going to love the house I rented for us.”

I didn’t bother to ask for a picture. Truth is, I don’t give a shit what the place looks like. As long as it’s far from Boston, I’m good with whatever she chose. But knowing that her taste has gotten expensive since marrying me, I figure it’ll be on the beach and nice as hell.

“It has plenty of space and lots of bedrooms.”

“All the guys will be down to visit, I’m sure,” I say, hoping she’s not hinting at anything other than having a lot of guests.

She leans forward and kisses the end of my nose. “That’s what I’m planning for.”

Thank fuck.

Tilly and I have been married for two years. My parents are asking for some grandkids. Hers are, too. Probably even more now that we have moved to her hometown and will see them more often. But what I learned from Tilly’s miscarriage—her pregnancy being the sole reason we’d married—is that I’m not ready to be a dad.

“Plus, with you being home so much now, I thought some extra space wouldn’t be a bad thing,” she says.

I squeeze her ass, the skimpy bottoms she has on barely covering it. “I like your thinking.” I lean into her neck, tasting the salt on her skin. “And I’d like it even more if you turned around and let me fuck your ass.”

She laughs. “You know I’m all about an audience, but there are kids in this water and tons of them on the beach, and none of them need to hear what I sound like when you’re inside my ass.”

“You’re definitely not a quiet one.”

“No, I’m not.” She chews on my bottom lip until I move my fingers away from her asshole. “Don’t worry, baby; you’ll get what you want once we’re back in our hotel room.”

She doesn’t give me that hole often enough. It’s not because she doesn’t enjoy it. My wife likes every place I stick my cock. She just enjoys making me work for it, and that makes me want it even more.

“Maybe while you’re in there,” she moans, “I’ll even turn around and ride you in reverse.” She pulls herself closer to my chest, her eyes telling me how badly she wants me.

“You ready to go? My dick is about to shred through these swim trunks.”

She laughs even harder this time. “In a minute.” She glances toward the horizon where the water meets the sky, and after several seconds, she asks, “I just assumed you were going to take some time off. Is that your plan, or do you have something else in mind?”

There it is again—life without hockey.

When my agent stopped by my place a few days after our call, he said some offers were coming in for coaching and commentating gigs. They would keep me near the league, just not on the ice. I told Jesse I needed time. I’m not ready to think about any of that yet, not when I haven’t accepted that I won’t be playing anymore. Fortunately, I’ve earned enough throughout the years that I don’t have to work again. I’ve invested well, and I’m smart with my money. If I take any of those positions, it’ll be because I want to.

But the only thing I want at this moment is to play hockey.

“I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do,” I tell her. “Nothing feels right yet.”

She wraps around me a little tighter, her lips pressing against mine. “I know something that’s going to feel right.” Tiny groans come through her lips after every exhale.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” She licks the bottom of my ear, flicking it before tugging it into her mouth. “It’s going to be so much fun, too.”

“You’re talking about what I’ll be doing to you when we get back to the hotel room?”

She shakes her head. “It’s something I’ve been planning for us that’ll happen in a few weeks.”

The last time my wife surprised me, she brought a chick back to our place. Seeing the girl go down on Tilly was so goddamn hot.

She likes women. She likes having me watch her fuck them.

And I like the show she gives me.

“It’s going to involve you coming,” she breathes. “A lot.”