His apartment had never seemed so quiet or empty. After tossing his bag onto the floor and his keys onto the hall table, Asher flicked on the light, illuminating the open-concept bachelor pad, and shivered in the cool air. It hadn’t felt as cold in Jersey in November, but now the frigid, damp, late-December air penetrated the walls of his home, further depressing him.
The only sound was a distant dripping of a faucet in the kitchen that he’d planned on fixing…before his life had gotten rocked with the hit on the ice. No holiday music to drive him insane. No sound of his mother and Mr. Callaway fighting to distract him from his own problems. And no festive decorations or holiday lights to remind him of the season.
He’d thought he couldn’t feel any worse than when he’d been surrounded by love and holiday cheer with his family in Glenwood Falls, while he was missing Emma.
He’d been wrong.
Squaring his shoulders, he grabbed his bag and shook off the feeling of loneliness.
He was back. He needed to get his head on straight and start focusing. He was fortunate that the reinjured knee seemed to be healing just fine, and in a few nights, he would play his one thousandth game.
Back in Denver.
His family hadn’t understood why he insisted on flying all the way back to New Jersey for just a few days when he was scheduled to play his next game against Colorado anyway, but he couldn’t stay.
He’d felt claustrophobic and on edge in the small town…so close to Emma, longing to go see her, and not having the courage to.
Mentally and emotionally drained, he undressed and slid beneath the cool, unwelcoming sheets on his bed. He was exhausted, but he lay awake for hours, unable to sleep. The sound of his alarm couldn’t come fast enough.
It felt like he’d finally just closed his eyes when the buzzing sound filled his room. Reaching across, he slammed it silent and tossed the sheets aside, then prepared for his first practice in six long weeks.
His muscles ached to be put to use. Arriving at the arena just after seven a.m., the familiar routine eased the tension from his body.
His team was happy to have him back, and a round of applause filled the locker room as he entered.
It was good to be back, surrounded by the only thing in his life that had ever made sense, the only thing he was good at, the thing that he could depend on. For now.
His coach was still dodging him on the issue of his contract renewal.
“Look, why don’t we sit down in the new year—you, me, and your agent…and figure out what’s next for you,” Coach Hamilton said, his gaze drifting past him to the players practicing on the ice.
Not the most encouraging answer.
When his coach wanted to re-sign a player, he acted as though the contract wasn’t running out. An assumption that the player would continue on the team was the normal protocol. Obviously not in Asher’s case.
Asher nodded. “Okay.”
“Don’t worry about it for now, okay?” his coach said, tapping him on the shoulder. “Get out there. Go warm up those skills. Fans want to see that you’re back and better than ever.”
The message rang loud and clear. It wasn’t just the fans needing to see if he still had it.
Skating out onto the ice, he moved a little slower at first, his confidence just a little off. Part of him wanted to play it safe at practice, make sure his leg held out for the game against Colorado…his thousandth game, finally. But a bigger drive, a different need was a source of fuel for him now. While the milestone game mattered, so did game 1,001, 1,002…and every other game he could squeeze into his lifetime.
He needed to prove that he still had what it took to be one of the greats…like his brother. But not to beat his brother or to compete with him, but because he knew he was that athlete. No one else on the ice that morning had the same devotion and dedication to the sport as he did…no one else needed the sport as much as he did.
Right now, it was all he had.
So, he left it all out on the ice.
He’d messed up his shot with Emma. He refused to let something else he was passionate about slip away.
He skated hard and fast, body-checking players and taking hits from all sides. He stole the puck and took every shot given to him. He played like the hungry kid he used to be.
And three hours later, exhausted and dripping with sweat, he was the last one to leave the ice.
“Westmore,” his coach said as he headed toward the showers.
He turned. “Yes, coach?”
“Next week after the game—you, me, and your agent.” The man’s attention was definitely focused on him now.
Relief flowed through him and he felt the tension of the last few weeks start to melt away. “Yes, sir.”
“Good to have you back.”
“Yes, sir.”
* * *
Emma slowed her vehicle as she passed the Westmore house, knowing it was stupid. Asher had left already. She’d run into Beverly at the grocery store the day before and the woman had seemed as disappointed as Emma was.
He’d left without saying goodbye.
She stopped the car a block away and climbed out into the freezing air. The bright sun reflecting off the frost covering the ground did nothing to warm her and she put on her gloves before opening her father’s mailbox.
Possibly for the last time.
The day after Christmas they’d driven to Willow Springs, the retirement community just outside Glenwood Falls, and her father had agreed it was for the best. Jess would look after the sale of the house in the spring once the repairs were finished.
Taking the stack of late Christmas cards and several flyers out of the mailbox, she flipped through for any bills or anything urgent.
Her heart stopped seeing an envelope with the New Jersey Devils logo in the corner.
Addressed to Jess?
She tapped the envelope against her gloved palm. Her sister wouldn’t care if she opened it, would she?
Damn.
Locking the mailbox, she hurried back to the car and drove straight to her sister’s house.
The smell of chocolate and cinnamon wafted out to greet her as she entered through the front door. How her sister and family didn’t collectively weigh a thousand pounds from all of Trey’s delicious baking, she’d never know. Emma had certainly indulged that past week and was feeling the tightness in her clothes.
“Jess!” she called, leaving her coat and boots on as she rushed through the house. Stopping in the living room, she checked to see if her father was awake in the chair in front of the football game before asking, “Dad, do you know where Jess is?”
He ignored the question, instead pointing toward the television. “They better have ESPN at Windy Old Geezer Springs.”
Emma rolled her eyes. “Dad, where’s Jess?”
“Is that my mail?” he asked, nodding at the pile in her hand.
“Oh, yes, here. Looks like Christmas cards and junk mail,” she said, handing him everything but the letter for Jess.
Braxton entered the living room with a plate of cookies and glass of milk. “Here you go, Grandpa,” he said.
“Braxton, where’s your mom?”
“Downstairs in our playroom trying to convince Brayden to throw away a bunch of old stuffies…”
She didn’t wait to hear the rest as she hurried down the stairs to the boys’ playroom.
Braxton followed.
“Jess, this came for you,” she said, extending the envelope toward her sister.
Jess held two stuffed toys—a giant elephant in one hand and a long green snake in the other. “Pick one, Brayden,” she said, her patience with the after-Christmas playroom organization waning thin.
“I like both.”
“Brayden!”
“Jess!” Emma said, taking both toys and handing them to her nephew. “Open this,” she told her, handing her the envelope.
Jess shot her an annoyed look, but then her eyes widened as she saw the logo. “What is it?”
“Open. It.” The words were said through clenched teeth.
Jess ripped the corner off and pulled out a stack of hockey tickets. She read the sticky note attached. “As promised, tickets for the New Year’s Eve game in Denver. Hope you all can make it.” She flicked through. “There’re seven.”
Enough for her sister’s family, her father, and her.
Emma swallowed hard.
“Are you going to go?” Jess asked the question she’d just been asking herself.
One she didn’t know the answer to.