Page 22 of Not A Chance

It might have even been nice, except I couldn’t concentrate for shit. The only thing I saw was my sister’s best friend sitting with my teammate across the bar.

They might as well have been the only other people in the room, seeing as I had already cataloged every detail of their interaction.

Were they on a fucking date? Just the thought of it had the back of my neck heating with the effort of suppressing my shock and protective instincts.

The kid was twenty-one years old and about as wide-eyed innocent as they came.

Indie, on the other hand, was the definition of beauty and grace. Her espresso-colored hair fell like a sheet of water down her back. Her perfect facial features were mostly hidden from me as she focused her attention on Andrews.

And that was just what you could see from the outside. Did Andrews know that she was the smartest person I knew? I may or may not have created a LinkedIn profile just so I could see what she’d been up to over the past six years. My mom had been a brilliant woman and would have been so impressed with all that Indie had accomplished.

I was trying very hard not to think about where that landed me on the cringe scale.

She could have easily pursued a career in academics with her dual degrees: one in Business Administration and the other in Social Welfare. She’d been a Presidential Scholar recipient, for Christ’s sake.

So what in the hell could Andrews have to say that would hold her interest like that? Her eyebrows scrunched adorably as she listened carefully to whatever that little doofus was saying.

I mean, he had an inch of height on me, so he wasn’t that little, but he was just a baby. He wouldn’t know how to handle a woman like Indie.

Not the way I could.

Shit. Where had that thought come from?

My forearm tightened on the tabletop as I squeezed the beer bottle in my grip, watching him slide his hand across the table and cover hers. That sweet smile that she hid from everyone appeared on her face.

People had to work for that smile. Most people saw the snark Indie had developed in her mid-teens and took her at face value. I remembered her when it took me a year to coax a genuine smile from her face when Emery had first invited her over.

So what the fuck had Andrews done to be rewarded with it?

I forced my eyes back to my beer, and I spun the half-full bottle between my hands. I had to stop looking at them before someone misunderstood my instinct to look out for Indie as something else.

“Yao?”

I looked up and saw Michaels and Campbell staring at me with expectation on their faces.

“I’m sorry, what?” Clearly, they knew I hadn’t been paying attention.

They chuckled good-naturedly at my lapse in attention, probably chalking it up to post-practice fatigue. Coach Reyes did not pull punches, no matter how we performed in our last game. Win orlose, he kicked our asses in practice every time.

My muscles were certainly protesting all the contortions I’d put them through this morning. The throb in my right knee told me I’d gone too far in trying to prove myself to my new team. I needed to save that shit for game nights. My body took every opportunity to remind me that I wasn’t a young man by hockey standards anymore.

The deep ache had me reaching one hand down to press on my thigh under the table, seeking some sort of relief.

I lamented not taking some acetaminophen before leaving the locker room. Not that it did much for me, but some days, it could take the edge off the worst of the pain. I wouldn’t allow myself to take anything stronger.

“No worries, man. Campbell here just asked how you are settling in. Can’t be easy after so many years in Vancouver.” Michaels didn’t seem to mind filling me in.

“Can’t say that I expected a trade this late in my career. After a dozen years with the Frost,I thought I’d do the impossible and stay there until I had to think about the dreaded R-word.”

Not too many players wanted to even think about retiring. And I certainly didn’t either.

Pain, however, had a way of forcing a person to consider things they never wanted to. The sliding scale of discomfort to stabbing pain was my daily reminder that the choice to begin the next stage of my life might be taken out of my hands at any moment.

Even though I’d known for a year that I’d need knee surgery, I was no closer to figuring out what was next for me.

Money aside, I’d literally only ever been good at hockey. What if there wasn’t another dream for me to chase out there? What if I never found something I could be passionate about?

I’d tied my identity to hockey since my mid-teens. Who was Iwithout it?

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