Page 74 of Lawson

Blakely’s face flashes behind my eyes, my heart rebelling at any decision that would take me away from her.

Fuck me. That settles it. I'm in love with her. Eventhinkingthe declaration has a wave of warmth crashing over me.

“No, I don't want to get rid of you,” Coach finally answers my question. “But I also don't want to hold you back. You know how good of a player you are. You know how vital you are to not only this team but howvaluableyou could be to another. And I'm never going to be one to get in the way of what your own definition of success is. This business may be filled with passion and heart, but it's still a business. I understand more than anybody, you have to go where the money is. I don't know what number the Sharks are going to offer you, but if it's one that you like, there’ll be no hard feelings if you make that decision. I want you to know that.”

He really means it, I can tell that much. And while I know he isn’t wrong about money and business and hockey, there is one giant factor that’s currently swaying my decision.

Because really, when I actuallyallowedmyself to think about wearing a Sharks jersey, Blakely isn’t the only thing that’s giving me pause. She’s a giant fucking factor, for sure, but my team...the Badgers have become myteam. And it’s become an honor to fight and strive with these guys as we try to bring ourselves out of the trenches.

Coach pushes something across his desk, and I pick it up. “That's the number the owner told me to have you call to set the meeting. You can pass it on to your agent or do it yourself,” he says. “Either way, he's pretty laid-back about the whole thing. It seems like he's a good owner, even though I haven't met him personally.”

I pocket the card, and nod at Coach. “I'll think about it,’ I say. “Thanks, Coach. Is there anything else?”

“You got somewhere important to be?” he asks with an oddly knowing look in his eyes.

“I have a date,” I admit.

Coach clears his throat and then starts organizing his desk as he nods and waves toward the door. “Off you go then.”

The sudden shift in his demeanor has me wondering if he's getting all choked up about this possibly being one of our last heart-to-hearts together.

I want to assure him that I have no intention of going anywhere, but I'd be lying if I said there isn’t something to think about.

The chance to play for the team I've admired my whole life is hard to pass up, even if it's just a conversation with the owner that I have no intention of truly following through with.

And as I get into my car and head toward Blakely’s apartment for our upstanding tradition after a loss—ice cream and Netflix at her place—I realize that there is only one person I want to talk to about this, and that's her.

I park outside her unit and grab the wrapped presents I have in my car from my shopping trip the other day with the guys. This is the first time I've been over to her house since then, but she’s had her Christmas tree up since November and these will go perfectly underneath it.

Blakely opens the door before I even knock, no doubt her newly installed cameras alerting her to my presence. She throws her arms around me, her dark blonde hair damp from a shower she must’ve taken right after the game. She's dressed in a simple pair of pajama pants and T-shirt, smelling like a dream and feeling warm in my arms as I walk us into her apartment and shut the door behind us.

She shifts out of my arm, eyes widening at the two gift boxes in my hand, and I smile at her before heading over to her tree set up in the living room and slide them underneath it.

“You didn't have to do that,” she says as I turn my attention back to her.

“Yeah, but I wanted to,” I say.

“Well, I haven't wrapped yours yet, but it'll be under the tree come Christmas morning. Or the day after Christmas, whenever you’re back from seeing your mom.”

I nod at her, a million thoughts racing through my head as I round her couch and sink into it, leaning my head against the back of it as I breathe out slowly. I feel the weight shift, and Blakely is by my side giving me a sympathetic look.

“I'm sorry about the loss,” she says, planting a soft kiss on my lips before pulling back.

I smooth my hand up and down her back, drawing her just a little bit closer. “It's all right, that's not what's bothering me.”

Her eyes widen a bit, the sky blue of them churning with something I can't quite place. “What is it?” she asks softly.

“I'll tell you about it later,” I say focusing all my attention on her. “Your text earlier said you had something you wanted to talk about. I'm guessing it wasn't ice cream flavors for the night?” I tease.

She forces out a laugh, and the hesitation lining her features has me sitting up a little straighter.

“What is it?”

“It’s kind of heavy,” she says. “Maybe not the best thing after a loss?—”

“There's no way you can't tell me, not after that. What's going on?” My stomach churns, apprehension slicing down my spine.

“I saw Brian a couple of days ago?—”

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