I walk briskly a couple of blocks over to Lexington and then down to the restaurant. I see Harper already at a table. I love Harper—she’s great at what she does and she’s been fantastic for my career—but lately there’ve been a few times we haven’t quite seen eye to eye. Apparently she has a few new things lined up she wants to run past me.
I enter the restaurant, reveling in the warm, delicious-food-scented air, and head straight to her table. She stands and smiles, her lips bright red, her brown skin smooth and perfect, her hair a mass of gorgeous natural curls around her face.
We greet each other with a hug, and I hang my coat on a nearby hook.
I pick up my menu. “I love this place,” I say. “I never know what to have. Everything is good. And I love that it’s all plant based and organic.”
“I appreciate that,” says vegan Harper. “I’m going to have the vegetable tajine.”
“Yum.” I make a face, trying to decide. “Okay. I love this Tibetan bowl—brown rice, coconut peanut butter curry sauce, greens, and kimchi.”
The waitress comes and we order, both of us electing to drink water. She sets a carafe of water on the table for us.
“So what were you working on this morning?” Harper asks.
“Chocolate chip cookies.”
“That seems…tame.”
“It was tame until all the cookies landed on the floor. You know me by now. I make the most ordinary things weird.”
She laughs. “True.”
“I have a ton of editing to do tonight on it. But this afternoon I’m recording a podcast.” I just started doing podcasts and they haven’t exactly taken off as I’d hoped.
“That’s one of the things I want to talk to you about,” she says. “I have a couple of ideas for podcasts.”
“Okay, great.” I’m totally open to ideas that will get more listeners.
“What about this. Have you heard of Elijah Thomas?”
“No.”
“He’s sixty-seven years old and was discovered while busking in a subway station.”
“Singing?”
“Yes. He joined the group Ten Times Soul and his first album is coming out later this year.”
“That is so cool! I love it.” I could have so much fun with a sixty-seven-year-old subway busker.
“Fantastic! I’ll let them know and we’ll set it up. Here’s another idea. What do you think of hockey?”
I shrug. “It’s a sport.”
She laughs. “Yes, it is. And it’s getting really popular. Well, it’s been popular in New York for a long time, but across the country it’s growing.”
“You want me to interview some jock with no teeth?”
She lowers her chin and gives me a chiding look. “Sara.”
“I’m not being mean! I think it would be cool. I love that player in California. I forget his name, he has a huge, long beard and no front teeth. I love that he’s so real. That would be freakin’ awesome!” I don’t know much about hockey or any sport, but that’s never stopped me from talking about it. Maybe I’ll learn something.
“Excellent. There’s a new player in town and the Bears are trying to get him out in the community in front of the fans.”
“What’s his name?”
“Josh Heller. He plays defense for the Bears.”
I don’t know defense from…what? Offense? Whatever. I know who the Bears are, obviously. You can’t live in New York and not know that. I even went to a game once. But as I may have mentioned, I don’t have a lot of free time. “Okay, what the hell. I’ll talk to him.”
“Perfect! I’ll get that set up too. Who are you talking to this afternoon?”
“KayJay. He’s an up-and-coming rapper.”
She nods.
I set this one up myself because I like his music.
“What other ideas do you have?”
We do some brainstorming over lunch and talk about other projects and ideas and the latest partnership my agent, Janet, has set up with Sephora, which is huge!
But you know, I’m cool about it. Sometimes it’s hard to believe what my life has turned into since I started making videos in college, but it’s real and I’m loving it.
Chapter 3
Josh
After my first game in New York, my new teammates take off for the all-star break and I fly back to Dallas to pack up my stuff and get it and my car shipped to New York. I cancel my trip to Aruba, which is a huge bummer, but I just can’t see how else I can get things done. Cora is pissed at me and I guess I don’t blame her. The only thing that makes any sense is hockey.
I meet with my new coach.
“We’ve got a pretty good hockey team here,” Coach Meknikov says. “I’m not about to shake things up and make a lot of changes, since this is temporary until we have a new head coach.”
I nod.
“It’s a young team,” he continues. “We like your experience and we need a solid presence on the blue line. That said, development is a big thing for us.” He pauses. “You heard about what happened here with the change of coaching staff.”
“Yeah.”
His face is sober. “We’re taking that very seriously. And I want you, and everyone, to know you can come to me with any concerns you have. We need to change the culture here.” He holds my gaze steadily and I sense his sincerity.
“That’s good to know.”
He knows the team and the systems, and we go over a lot of stuff. “The one-three-one power play formation has become the go-to power play system,” he says. “It gives us the ability to spread players out inside the zone, keep a player in front of the net at all times, and place shooters in key positions so they can shoot off the pass.”
“Yeah, we used that in Dallas too,” I say.
“Good, good.”
I get photos and video done for PR materials, get my security badge, and meet some of the office staff. Rick Blackmore, the communications dude, meets with me and talks about me getting involved in the community. I know that’s part of the gig, so I’m up for that, although I’m a little confused about this podcast thing he’s set up with some “influencer” chick. I’m not exactly thrilled about being interviewed but he tells me it’ll be fine.
The only thing that’s a problem for me is a visit to a children’s hospital in February. I spent way too much time in the hospital, and I don’t ever want to go back to one. I try to tell Rick that without coming right out and saying that I might puke and/or pass out if I go there, but he doesn’t get it and I think I’ll have to go. Fuck.
I’ll deal with that when it happens, I guess.
I want to explore the area around the hotel and the arena. The first thing I need to make sure of is how to get to the arena. Not knowing things bugs me. It’s only a couple of blocks, so once I have that figured out and my route planned for next time I have to get there, I wander around a bit. Sixth Avenue is wide and packed with unending, noisy traffic. I venture down narrower side streets. It’s weird, but the age and style of the buildings remind me of downtown Winnipeg. It makes me feel a bit more at home.
I find a Five Guys, very useful; a branch of my bank; and a dry cleaner. Soon I’m freezing. January in New York is not like Dallas.
I use Google Maps on my phone, then walk a few blocks to Macy’s. There, I wander the menswear aisles and pick up some sweaters, a couple of hats, and a more casual jacket.
Apparently Easton’s still in town, because Mike messages me the next day that he’s gotten in touch with him so I can go see his apartment and check out the building. I’m sure Easton’s really happy about that.
I haven’t had to use the subway, since I’ve been walking everywhere. It’s been kind of lonely wandering around New York by myself, but I’ve been glad of the chance to get my bearings before the schedule starts up again. So I hav
e to figure out how to take the subway to Easton’s place.
It turns out it’s not that hard, after some googling. The only problem I have is knowing which way the metro card is supposed to go when I swipe it. I get it wrong every time.
I walk along 66th Street, checking out the buildings, until I get to Riverside Boulevard. I’m not sure whether to turn left or right so I guess, luckily correctly, because I’m freezing.
The building’s nice—brass doors, elegant lobby with marble floors, big columns, modern furniture arrangements, and a security desk. The guy at the desk calls up to Easton, then sends me up to the seventh floor.
My muscles are twitchy. My mouth is dry, and I rub my hands together for the entire elevator ride.
I knock on Easton’s door and immediately hear barking on the other side. Easton opens the door hanging on to the collar of a smallish black dog, who’s barking excitedly.
“He’s harmless,” Easton says. “Just excited.”
“Okay.” I keep an eye on the dog as I step inside and close the door behind me. I like dogs, but you never know.
Easton releases him and the dog bolts toward me. I bend and let him sniff my hand and he appears to be satisfied, as he stops barking.
“That’s Otis,” Easton says. “Come in.” His voice is cool and stiff.
What’s his problem? He’s the one who never bothered to come see me after the accident.
“Thanks for letting me have a look at your place.” I follow him into the living room, unzipping my jacket. “Sorry Mike bothered you with this.”
“Not a problem.”
“Hi there!” A female voice calls from the kitchen, and then she walks out to join us, drying her hands on a towel. She’s gorgeous—in a sweet way. Her smile is much friendlier than Easton’s. She walks toward me and holds out a hand. “I’m Lilly.”
“Hey. Nice to meet you, Lilly. Josh Heller.” I shake her hand. I guess this is Easton’s girlfriend.
“Nice to meet you too. So you’re thinking of moving into this building?”
“I guess.” I shrug. “I don’t know the city at all, other than times we’ve played here. It seems like a good location.”
Easton gestures to the window. “You can see 9A—that’s what we take to the practice facility. You can get on it at Seventy-second Street, so it’s pretty convenient.”
“Sounds good. I don’t know my way around yet.” I stroll over to the big windows. “Nice view.”
I turn and catch Lilly watching us, biting her bottom lip. She knows we used to be friends. And aren’t anymore.
“This is the kitchen,” she says, waving a hand. “It’s small, but that’s New York.”
“Yeah, it is small.” I survey the tiny space. Compared to the huge apartment I had in Dallas, this is…well, it’ll be an adjustment.
“I have two bedrooms and two bathrooms,” Easton says, turning away. “The bathroom’s here and the spare room is right here.”
They’re just off the living room. Both are a good size and nicely decorated.
“The other one is down the hall.” Easton strides away and I follow him.
“This is great,” I say. “Lots of room.”
“Yeah. I haven’t done a lot of decorating.” He shrugs. “This is the en suite.”
I survey the bathroom and a huge walk-in closet. “This looks good.”
“Apparently there are a few units available. Mike can set something up for you to look at them if you think you’re interested.”
“Yeah. I’ll talk to him.” Maybe it would be better if I lived in a different building than Easton. Then again, I don’t really want to spend days looking at apartments and figuring out how to get everywhere. This is all fucking with my head. It’s pissing me off.
He shows me more storage and the laundry space, and we return to the living room. Otis has followed us everywhere, watching me with alert eyes. He’s a goofy-looking dog, with a face like he ran into a door and big ears.
“So what do you think?” Lilly asks brightly as we return to the living room.
“Looks great.”
“Would you like coffee?” she asks. “I’m so sorry, I should have offered sooner. Easton and I are both coffeeholics.”
I haven’t even taken my jacket off. “Uh, no thanks, that’s okay. I’ve got…um, stuff to do.”
Easton nods, his arms crossed, face impassive.
This sucks.
I don’t have the energy to deal with it right now. This whole situation is stressing me out and making me relive all the uncertainty and fear I had after the accident. I fucking hate feeling like this and I just need to survive so I can play hockey.
“Thanks for showing me your place. Appreciate the time.”
Lilly’s eyes flick between me and Easton, and I sense she wants to say more but she doesn’t.
“See you next week,” I say to Easton. “I’m looking forward to playing again.”
“Yeah. It’ll be good. Enjoy the rest of the break.”
I leave his apartment, my gut tight, my hands clenched. In the elevator, I slump against the wall and take a few breaths. Shit. Why is this so hard?
I push out onto the street and stand on the sidewalk, gulping in frigid air. Shit, it’s cold out here. I zip up my jacket, tugging the hood over my head, and pull my gloves out. For a moment I look around at what could be my new neighborhood. Lots of open area, paths for running and walking, the river nearby. Could be worse, I guess. I take a different route back to the subway station to check things out more.
I spend the rest of the break signing a lease on an apartment—I go for easy and rent one in Easton’s building. Mine is on the fifteenth floor and a different layout, but it will work fine for me. I arrange for the furniture I put in storage to be shipped. My car arrives, so that’s good, although I can already see that getting to the arena is going to be way easier by subway than driving.
When the break is over, I meet the guys again. Mike picks me up and drives me to the practice facility, where we get back on the ice. The guys on the team are great. Mostly. Easton avoids me, but I’m fine with that. Team captain Daniel Bergen, who everyone calls Bergie, shows me around the Apex Center. Alternate captain Nate Karmeinski is also really friendly and helpful, including me when we break for lunch. Coach has paired him and me up at practices, so maybe I’ll be playing with him.
“Hey, Josh,” Jay Bobak says to me. “Your dad was one of my favorite players growing up.”
I smile. I’ve heard this before. “Yeah?”
“Your uncle was my favorite,” James Michaud says. His dark auburn hair has earned him the nickname Red.
“Which uncle?” I grin. I have three uncles and they all played in the NHL. Talk about a hockey family.
“Jase. He had wicked silky mitts; man, could he dangle the puck.”
I nod. Not for the first time, I’m glad I play defense so people don’t compare me too much to my dad and my uncles. I still wonder if my name is what got me drafted, given that I’d barely played hockey in the year before the draft. If it was, I’ll take it; this was my goal, and being hurt and unable to play for so long was a huge obstacle, but I always knew I could do it. And I am.
I have to remember that and be grateful for what I’ve accomplished instead of being resentful about this huge change to my nicely settled life.
I’m eager to play my second game with the team on Thursday night. My first game got some of the nerves out but wasn’t my best work. This may not have been in my plan, but I want to contribute.
Chapter 4
Sara
I’m meeting Josh Heller at the studio where I record my podcasts. It’s a small place, all they do is podcasts, but I really like the guys that run it. I walk the three blocks from the 42nd Street subway stop and enter the nondescript office building then ride the t
iny, ancient elevator to the eighth floor. They have the whole floor here, so I step out of the elevator into a waiting room with stylish couches and chairs and cool track lighting. One wall is lined with framed pictures of various podcast covers, including mine: Random Acts of Sara, with the hot-pink background and stylized image of my face.
They don’t have a receptionist, but I know Oliver will come and get me. I’m early because I’m always early. I unwrap my scarf, take off my jacket, and hang it in the small closet, then take a seat, pulling out my phone from my purse. I’m scrolling through Instagram when the door opens. I look up to see Josh Heller enter.
Now, I’ve done some research on him. My podcasts seem haphazard and off the top of my head, but I do plan what I’m going to talk about, so I need to know something about my guests. I already know Josh Heller has teeth. And he’s goddamn gorgeous.
My belly flutters as I jump to my feet to greet him. “Hi! Josh, right? I’m Sara.” I stick out my hand. But my palm feels sweaty. “Wait.” I rub it on the thigh of my jeans. “There.” I extend it again.
He blinks, lifts one eyebrow, and takes my hand without a smile. “Nice to meet you, Sara.”
His hand is big and warm and not sweaty. I like it.
He is big…I’m average height, five feet, six inches, and he’s got to be well over six feet. And did I mention he’s gorgeous? I don’t get how this is fair when he bashes people around for a living. He wears a layer of scruff that’s almost a beard. His thick eyebrows sit low over brown eyes and his lips…holy fuck cakes, his lips…they are the most kissable lips I’ve ever seen on a man.
He pulls off his knit hat to reveal thick dark hair that falls over his forehead. I want to reach out and gently push it back.
“Likewise,” I say. “Wow, I did not expect you to be so good-looking.” Which is stupid because I saw pictures of him, but in person, he has a magnetism that I can feel right between my legs.
He barks out a dry laugh. “Okay. I guess I could say the same.”
I wave a hand. “Please.” I only got a few hours of sleep last night and my Boi-ing Industrial Strength Concealer isn’t hiding that. I have a zit on my chin and my hair needs washing. I usually don’t give a fuck how I look, but today I kind of wish I’d taken a bit more time with my appearance. “So. Have a seat.” I gesture at the couch. “We’re a bit early so we can chat. Oh, wait, you can hang up your jacket there in the closet.” As usual, I sound like a goof. Stuff just comes out of my mouth.
You Had Me at Hockey (Bears Hockey) Page 2