Page 171 of Toeing the Line

And I can’t even bring myself to smack him across the chest like he deserves, because my chest is so full with the realization that I know exactly what I want.

“Of course I do.”

“Then get your shit together and get your girl.”

I nod, but my head is empty. It’s literally empty and I can’t find a single thought to get me started.

“Come in and have dinner. Let’s talk to Sarah. She’ll know what to do.” He squeezes my shoulder and I nod.

We go into the house where Rachel is still playing with her bird and Ivan is looking for red-bellied robins through binoculars out the back window and Sarah is ladling chicken and rice soup into deep bowls. Zach kisses her temple and whispers something in her ear.

“You finally figured it out, huh?” Sarah says, grinning ear to ear.

“I told you,” Zach says with a shit-eating grin. “Smart girls, man.”

56

zeke

It takesa long time to get my bearings in Connecticut. It doesn’t help that I flew in on a red-eye, or that I’ve never been here and don’t know right from left. I told my agent I needed a few days to consider things, but the truth is, I won’t be returning to pro hockey.

After my morning meeting with Alan, Rick Ridgefield’s business partner, I’m almost certain I’ll be signing with him. He introduced me around his offices and I saw Rick in passing. They made a big fuss over me, asking about my jaw and my concussion status and where I see myself in the next few months.

It’s amazing how over the course of a few weeks the question changes from where I see myself in ten years to where I see myself at Christmas.

But it’s my final talk with Alan that really centers me.

“What is your reason?”

“My reason? For what?” I thought it was pretty obvious why I was here, asking about his contacts within sports broadcasting. I need to know that there’s a post-game for me. That there’s something out there for me to sink my teeth into and make myself worthy.

“Come on, man. You know what I mean. What’s gonna be your reason for putting in the work? The travel, the crappy hotels, the stinky bus rides, the days when all you want to do is sleep in your own bed.”

I nod and lean forward. “I guess I’m still working on that.”

He nods, as if in understanding.

“So you’re leaning toward taking the early exit option in your contract then?”

I let out a heavy sigh as I scrub my hand down my face. After my check-up yesterday to go over the new MRI, it’s clear that while my brain is in remarkably good shape for having had three concussions in two years, it’s not going to stay that way. The doctor said if I took good care of it there’s a good chance it could recover.

But another concussion would be a game changer, and not for the better.

Alan sighs and leans onto his elbows over his glass desktop. “When you’ve had one too many concussions, post-concussive syndrome can start to set in quickly. It could mean frequent headaches. Migraines. Depressive and anxious symptoms.”

“I know all that,” I say quietly.

“It can also become degenerative. Paranoia. Erratic behavior. Poor decisions.” He takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Personality changes. I mean, between you, me, and the walls, just look at Rick.”

I nod solemnly and wait for him to continue.

“If she’s your reason for this, then be the man she fell in love with. Don’t let him disappear.”

Those words hit me like a skate to the teeth, and I hold on to them as we shake hands. They stay with me as I look up an address and drive up a long driveway toward a massive brick house in Greenwich. And they steel me as I ring the doorbell and take in the blonde woman in a crisp button-down shirt at the door.

“Zeke? What are you doing here?” Faye’s mother asks.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Mrs. Benington. May I come in?”

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