Page 80 of He Has Charm (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
Twenty-Six
Maddox
No more hockey. The words reverberate through my whole body and I slam the sauté pan down hard against the stovetop burner. It’s a sad day when I abuse my pots and pans out of frustration. So what if there’s no more hockey?You had seven years in the NHL and you should be fucking grateful for that. That’s my conscience or dad’s ghost talking. Plus, I’m still living and breathing, aren’t I?
And there’s Harper. Do I really have a shot at a real relationship with her? That idea sends a reverberation of another kind through me making hockey seem like a small blip in my life. I turn on the gas jet to heat the pan then slice a couple of cubes of butter from the slab. After a minute I throw them in and they land with a satisfying sizzle.
Jason Santos texted me this new healthy chicken recipe to try out that he thought I might like. I’m surprised that he’d think of me. That I’d be anywhere on his radar when it comes to cooking, humbles me. As I lay out the chicken and get the mallet to tenderize it, my phone rings.
It’s Jett. My gut clenches. I pick up the meat mallet and put the phone to my ear with my other hand.
“What’s up?” I slam the chicken with the mallet with enough force to make the salt shaker jump.
“What the hell are you doing?” he says. I laugh and bang the mallet again.
“Cooking. What are you doing? Calling to chat?”
“Calling with good news, you ungrateful s.o.b.” There’s a teasing note in his voice and I wonder what kind of good news my ex-agent could possibly have for me.”
“Really? You always call your ex-clients with your puppy learns to roll over? Because I don’t know what other kind of good news you’d have for me.” He laughs.
“Glad to see your retirement hasn’t soured your sense of humor.”
“Just wait.”
“Maybe this’ll help. I’ve negotiated with Brawlers management and they’re keeping you on the team on injured reserve status until the end of the season.” I drop the mallet.
“What the fuck? How did you manage that?”
“The catch is your salary has been reduced for the remainder—”
“Down to what? Nothing?”
“Almost. They figure you can still make appearances with the team and play ambassador and I convinced them that would be worth something.” I let the implications run through my mind. The most important one is the team connection, still being part of that group of guys.
“How’d you convince them?”
“The team doctor reviewed the full file from your cardiologist at Harper’s insistence. They’d never seen it before because he’d been a minor when he was first diagnosed. They agree that you were taking acceptable precautions and not deceiving them about your fitness.”
“Harper was behind this.” I murmur, warm bliss spreading through my body, creating a restless need to see her as soon as fucking possible.
“They may want you to show up at games and sit on the bench in a suit and tie.”
“I think I can manage that.”
“You talk to Harper today?”
“No, why?” I get the idea he’s not telling me something.”
“Nothing. Except since you owe it all to her you should call her. Though I expect she’ll be calling you soon enough if she doesn’t stop in.”
“Stop in? I thought she was back in New York?”
“Not for long. Gotta go. Glad things worked out as well as could be expected.” He ends the call before I can question him further. Shit. There’s only one thing I can do because I’m not good at waiting around for things to happen, so I scroll my phone’s contacts for her name.
I actually have two icons on my phone for her. Sugar buns and Harper, depending on my mood. I close my eyes and press one of them randomly. My smile widens into a grin as the phone rings and I count the tics, waiting for her to answer.
Before Harper answers, the call is interrupted by an incoming call from Delaney. Shit. I have to take this. It must be about my new deal with the Brawlers.
