West

I’ve started a routine. It’s nothing like the daily shit I had to do during hockey season. Not even close. That’s because there aren’t any trainers telling me how many pounds I have to bench or any coaches yelling at me to pick up my pace on the ice. My agent isn’t nagging me about negotiating an endorsement contract or when I have to be at a photo shoot or what restaurants are paying me to show up and eat or what kind of car I have to be seen driving. This new routine begins when the sun peeks through the windows of our bedroom. I lace up my sneakers, throw on a pair of shorts, and hit the beach for a run.

Tilly always talked about the weather in Florida and how much she missed it. Now, I know why. It’s the middle of winter, and it’s so warm, I don’t even need a shirt. I let the morning sun beat down on my New England skin, that has a pretty decent tan already.

There typically aren’t many people out on the beach this early. I only pass a few, all of them doing the same thing I am, each of them men, except for one. About a quarter of a mile from my place is where she crosses my path. She stays on the wet sand, like me, and I move a little to the right to give her enough room to get by. We never speak. I just give her a nod, and she comes back with a brief smile that grows each time I see her.

The colors of her outfit change every day, but all she ever wears is a sports bra that holds in her decent-sized tits and a tiny pair of spandex shorts that show her heart-shaped ass. She doesn’t have the body of a runner. She isn’t too thin, too tall, or too muscular. She’s at a height that puts her at about my chest. Her tits bounce, which tell me they’re real. And she has a body that has nice curves and meat.

As I pass her now, it’s the largest grin she’s ever given me. But that’s all I can see because the rest of her face is mostly hidden by her hat and sunglasses. Still, there’s something so familiar about her. Maybe her lips or smile look like someone else’s I know. Maybe it’s all in my head. But that lift of her mouth, those perfect teeth, the long strides I take to reach her are things I look forward to every morning as I get dressed. And, once I pass her, a huge letdown follows because I know it’ll be another day before I see her again.

All of that from just a set of lips and a killer fucking body.

Jesus, my life has changed.

Two miles down is Tilly’s family’s water sports business. Her parents opened it long before they even had her, and now, it’s the biggest in Destin.

I normally keep on running at least a mile past their business and then head for home, but her dad is standing near the water, waving me down, so I stop right beside him.

“Tilly told me what time you leave, so I got here extra early today, hoping I’d catch you,” he says, extending his hand for me to shake.

During my run back, a few of his guys are usually loading all the equipment onto the beach—the kayaks, Jet Skis, paddleboards, rafts, umbrellas, and whatever other shit these beach people like to use.

I pull my hand back and stretch out my shoulders. “I like to get it done before the beach gets crowded.”

“Do you have a minute to talk?”

He knows I have nowhere to be. At the last dinner we went to, Tilly told her parents that I’d been enjoying my time off. That isn’t something I even mentioned to her, but it sounded good, and it caused them to nod and smile.

“Sure. Do you need help setting up the equipment?”

“No, I’ve got plenty of staff for that. I was wondering if we could talk business.”

“Business?”

His head turns toward the water, which he stares at for several seconds before slowly gazing back at me. “I’d like you to buy me out.”

I laugh. I can’t help it. It’s not what I expected, and I don’t think he’s being serious at all. But, when he stays silent, his eyes hard, his stare unwavering, I know he’s not joking.

This business is his whole life. It’s the second child they weren’t able to have.

And, now, they want to sell it?

To me?

“Why?” I ask.

“Damn it, West. It’s been a good run but a long one. I’m tired. And I’m ready to do all the things the wife and I have always talked about but never had the time because we’re always here.”

I want to get tired.

I want to watch my jersey be raised to the ceiling of the TD Garden where it’d hang forever.

I want the choice.

“I get it,” I tell him.

“I had a feeling you would.” He pats me on the shoulder. “I’d like to keep the business in the family. Her mother and I have put a lot of sweat and tears into that place. It would be a shame for someone else to get their hands on it. Now that you’re living here, the timing couldn’t be more perfect.”

He thinks my next dream is renting Jet Skis to vacationers?

I’m not sure what the hell to say.

“I know you’re a businessman, like myself,” he says, not even giving me a chance to respond. “So, before you ask, I’m not looking to get rich off the sale. We’ve made good money, and I’m not a greedy man. I just want to get what’s fair market value, so the wife and I won’t need for anything, if you know what I mean.”

I’m not sure I do.

“Have you talked to Tilly about this?”

He shakes his head. “I wanted to speak to you first, seeing as you’d be the one paying for it.”

If Tilly married someone who couldn’t afford a cash buyout, I wonder if this conversation would be going a little differently.

“I’ll talk to Tilly,” I say. “If she’s interested, we’ll go from there.”

“I appreciate it, West. And it’ll be a fair price; don’t you worry.”

I’m not worried.

Nor am I interested.

Tilly quit her job a few months after we started dating and hasn’t worked a day since. At this point, I can’t picture her standing at the tiki hut, renting out Jet Skis for the day. But, if that’s what she wants, she can have it.

“I’ll get back to you,” I tell him, taking a few steps away.

“We’ll be grilling some steaks Saturday night if you’d both like to join us. Not sure if my wife has mentioned that to Tilly yet or not.”

For the last week, Tilly’s been reminding me every day what she wants to have happen on Saturday night. It’s not dinner with her family. It’s when she hopes I’ll be fucking another woman in front of her.

“Can’t. We have other plans,” I say over my shoulder as I begin to jog. “Maybe next time.”

“I’ll wait to hear from you about the other thing.”

I throw my hand up and continue on, anticipating at least another two miles before I turn around and go home. There’s no rush to get back there. All that’s waiting for me is some breakfast, and then I’ll leave again for the gym. When I return, I’ll hit up the beach and go for a swim, and after a long shower, Tilly and I will go to dinner.

Anything to avoid the scores and the news updates.

Some fucking routine I have.

During every moment of it, I ask myself, What’s next?

Nothing comes to me. No ideas. No business ventures. No places I want to visit.

No next dreams.

Surely, not a water sports company on the beach.

Just hockey.

That’s always the answer.