Page 101 of Game Misconduct

Amelia bustles past me and into the kitchen. She helps herself to my cabinets, rifling through them until she finds a plate, a serving spoon, and silverware.

I sit gingerly at a counter stool, watching as McKittrick leans against the fridge.

“What did you want to talk about?” I come right out and say it. All I want is to crawl back into bed and wallow.

After the lasagna, of course.

“Hastings ended my career,” he blurts. “I was already considering retiring at the end of last season. My knee was fucked, and it was giving me more issues,” he continues. “One bad hit, and that was it. I tore my Achilles, and it was game over for me. Those early days were the hardest to handle emotionally. So I wanted to stop in and check on you. See how you’re holding up and where your head’s at.”

My throat feels thick as I swallow, my fears bubbling to the surface. “I don’t want to be done.”

“Then you won’t be,” he says, as if it’s that simple.

“How… how did you know?”

“I was in the last year of my contract, and rehab would take me through the end of it. I gave it my all, but a part of me knew I was ready.” He shrugs, though I can see the tension in his shoulders.

“Do you miss it?”

McKittrick’s shoulders heave with his heavy exhale. “Every goddamn day.”

Amelia makes a soft noise as she scoops a serving of lasagna onto a plate, pushing it in front of me. I dig in, the scent of cheese and tomato reminding me I’ve barely eaten in the last few days. My stomach rumbles, and it takes everything in me to wait until the steam rising off the pasta fades away so I don’t burn the roof of my mouth.

Fuck it. I can’t wait. I shovel a bite into my face-hole, and yes, ouch, it’s fucking hot, but it’s so good, I don’t care.

“Does it help to work with the team?” I ask once I’ve chewed and swallowed. “I don’t want to go into coaching, but there are other jobs in the hockey world…”

“There are. And it does,” he says. “I’m not ready to fully walk away.”

“It helps that I travel with the team,” his partner says with a teasing smirk. She pokes him in the side, and McKittrick squeaks, a fond smile on his face. “If I had another job, it might be different. At least for now, we can travel together and keep spending time together.”

Bex travels with the team, too. I can’t imagine her jetting off across the continent each week and my staying at home permanently. Sure, absence makes the heart grow fonder, and it’s healthy to have some distance and space every now and then. If it were our permanent arrangement, I’d miss her too much. The season is such an onslaught, and the travel never ends.

“Do you regret it?”

McKittrick shakes his head, no hesitation. “Not at all. It was time to move on. It was time to try something new.”

I hum, rolling his words around in my head. “I don’t know what I want to do.”

“The good news is, you don’t have to decide right now,” Amelia says. “All you have to do is focus on recovery. If you decide to retire next week, or at the end of the season, or at the end of your contract, or try for another one, the important thing is that it’s your decision, not anyone else’s.”

What I hate most is the unpredictability of this career. Am I ready to retire? I don’t know. I don’t want to give up the career I’ve devoted the last thirty years of my life to. I don’t want to give up the only thing I’ve ever done.

Besides, what would I do next? There’s still the idea of broadcasting—I was a journalism major in college, although I never finished my degree—and I wouldn’t mind being on camera. Or even behind the scenes, putting my hockey knowledge to good use.

The world is my oyster, and that’s fucking terrifying.

Even though I know there’s no rush to decide, even though I recognize I’ve earned the right to take some time to myself, it makes me itchy not having a plan.

Before three weeks ago, there was nothing keeping me in Boston. No reason to stay once my contract ended. I can move anywhere in the country—hell, anywhere in the world.

Now… so much will depend on Bex. Does she want to stay here? She has a job, a career. I’m not about to propose this week or even anytime soon, but I’m also not going to torpedo what might be the best thing to happen to me because I’m a little obsessed with my future.

She wants to get married. She wants kids. That’s always been my plan, too—after I retire.

Two more seasons.

I want my kids to grow up with Elsy’s. And if I have them with Bex, my and Elsy’s kids will be cousins. Family.

I want that. I want it so much my body physically aches.

McKittrick raps his knuckles on the countertop twice. “All you have to do is focus on recovery,” he repeats. “Whatever comes next, it’ll happen regardless. Just work on getting better.”

If only it were that easy.