Page 108 of Slash & Burn

Lexi slapped her menu on the table with a glare. “Dad, he just got captain and hasn’t even won the damn thing, and you want him to have a plan for what comes next?”

Sometimes it felt like Lexi and I were a lot closer in age, because she had a read on me better than anyone… well, anyone but Jill.

“I’m not thinking about what comes next.” I took a drink from my water glass, watching my father laugh off my sister’s recrimination and reload.

“I’m just saying. You need something to strive for. Now is the time to be making those connections. Those chairs don’t open up often, but there’s one out there for you, if you want it.”

I sighed, my stomach rolling. Ever since getting captain I’d been thinking about what would come next. But not in the same way he was. There was no sense in telling him that now though. Whatever choice I made, it wasn’t going to be because he and I had shared a dream for it. Not anymore. We’d gotten the one I’d shared with him since I was a kid.

“We’ll see. I’m not thinking about anything beyond this season. I finally got what I wanted, now I’m going to enjoy it.”

And prove I deserved it. Sure, we’d won a few games. But seasons unraveled faster than that all the time. It was my job to keep that from happening, and that’s all I wanted to focus on.

After the waiter came and took our orders, my folks both went to the restroom, leaving Lexi and I alone for a rare minute.

“So, how are you really?” she asked, jumping at the chance to get an uncensored answer out of me.

“I’m good, I swear. Things are gelling with the team. Blaise is happy.”

She scowled, looking at me like I was annoying her. “I don’t care about hockey, Grady. I mean you. And Jill?”

“Ah,” I said, shifting in my seat. “I haven’t heard from her.” But I knew her store was getting more social media buzz than just about any other business in Maine. I checked every day. I hoped it was translating into sales. I wanted her to make it almost as bad as I wanted to win the cup. Maybe more.

“Have you actually texted or called?”

“No, Lex. She’s busy doing her thing, I’m down here doing mine. It’s fine. We’re good.”

She blew out a raspberry. “You aren’t good unless you’re together. She should be here tonight.”

“Not gonna happen, kid. This isn’t what she wants.” My stomach hurt thinking about that, no matter how much time passed.

“You can’t give up, Grady. I saw the way she looked at you. She loved you too.”

My little sister wasn’t normally the overly romantic type, so when she said that, I wanted to believe.

“We’ll see, I guess.”

“You’llsee,” she muttered, as our parents sat back down. “I already know.”

In all the madness at the start of the season I’d forgotten about the network special covering the community programs until one of the team assistants had handed me an itinerary for a trip to New York for a gala to celebrate. I was only going to be there for a few hours, and I’d have to fly out solo to meet the rest of the team in LA for a game the next day.

The marketing folks hadn’t mentioned the footage I’d sent in since that last event, so I wasn’t even sure if it was being used or not. I figured if it was, we’d have been notified, so when I walked into the hotel ballroom in midtown the last person I expected to see was Cleo Hawkins—Jill’s old boss.

“Mr. Holloway, such a pleasure to see you again.” Her warmth felt forced, and I didn’t return it.

“Nice to see you,” I said cordially, stepping around her and heading to the bar for a seltzer. I got that letting Jill go ultimately wasn’t her decision. But she should have done more to fight for her. Jill was in a much better spot now, but not thanks to Cleo.

I spent the next hour mixing with some players I rarely got to spend time with. On the ice we were rivals, but tonight we got to kick back and tell stories. A group of us were laughing about one of the best goalie-goals of all time when a glass was clinked from up on stage.

“If folks could please take their seats, we’re ready to begin.”

I suffered a familiar sucker punch to the chest when I got to my seat only to find another empty chair beside me. This time the name card had it right with “Ms. Jill Jordan” printed in a fancy calligraphy font. But as I slumped in my chair, I plucked the card from the table, tucking it into my pocket because I knew she wouldn’t be there.

A short woman with long blonde hair walked to the podium, her smile bright and her voice even, as she started. “We are so honored to have you all here tonight. On behalf of the community outreach department for the National Hockey League we could not be more proud of each of the teams represented here this evening. The impact our organization can make, on and off the ice, far exceeds what any one of us can do on our own. And when we combine our willingness to serve with engaged community partnerships throughout the country, we make the kind of difference that outlasts a single game, a single season, or a single career. The ripples of your work this summer will be felt for years to come. But don’t take my word for it, please join me in welcoming some of our community partners to share what this summer’s initiative meant to them.”

One by one leaders from various organizations came on stage to sing the praises of the player or players who’d shown up for their group. It was inspiring to see the variety of programs. Job training, school building, and even a habitat for humanity house built by a bunch of Tampa players after a hurricane. Ours wasn’t the only literary program, but as clips from the network special played on a screen behind them after each spoke, I could tell ours was the best.

Biased or not, it was.

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