“Will you tell me about that night?”
I nod. “Yeah, of course.” I haven’t talked to anyone about my father other than Mickey, and even those conversations have been short because men like Mickey and me don’t sit around and share feelings. We get drunk and tell stories about what my dad was like when he was alive.
“He hadn’t been looking good for a few days before the start of the series and insisted that it was because he hadn’t been sleeping well and that he just needed a few days of rest after following the team during the playoffs. I think all the traveling took its toll on him. I blame myself for not seeing the signs and for being so focused on trying to win the Stanley Cup that I thought the grayish tint to his skin was from all the flights between cities and the hectic schedule and not because he was dying. It turns out, he wasn’t in remission after all and had found out the cancer was back and spreading fast before playoffs even began.
“His doctor said he didn’t want his prognosis to affect my game. I wish I had known how little time we had left together. I would’ve made sure that I spent every second I wasn’t on the ice with him. I tried to win the Cup for him, but after I missed two games, we were down in the series, and the momentum we’d had wasn’t there anymore. I thought, this year, things would be different and that we’d have another shot at the Cup until I fucked up more than usual, and now, here we are.”
Charlotte sniffs, and there’s sadness in her eyes and behind her words. “He was really proud of you, Alex. Your dad would talk about you for hours anytime he was in town to visit Mickey. I think that’s why I feel like I already know you. But everything your father told me about you felt sort of contradictory once I started reading about your wild lifestyle. I didn’t expect to be so comfortable around you after I saw some of those videos. Then, there are also the articles with statements from different girls, including the young girl you slept with that landed you in Philly. Not to mention, all the GMs I spoke with who weren’t so thrilled with you. I had one hell of a time finding another team for you after the scandal with your team owner’s granddaughter. No one wanted the bad press, not even the smaller markets that could use someone like you, but the Flyers were willing to take a chance on you.”
“I know, and I promise, I won’t let you down. I was so angry when I first heard the news of my trade. As much as I didn’t want to move to Philly and play for this team, I’m glad that I’m here because I never would’ve officially met you. My dad and Mickey didn’t do you justice. You’re so much better than what I imagined when I heard about this woman agent with a killer instinct. You reminded me so much of Mickey during our first phone call, and if you were a dude, I would’ve wanted to punch you with the way you spoke to me.”
She laughs, and her lips move against my chest. “Yeah, I was kind of harsh with you the first time we talked. I was really pissed. I had just come back from a business trip, only to hop right back onto a plane to do serious damage control for Mickey after finding out that you’d already screwed up before you even got here. I was at O’Hare Airport when I called you and so angry that, after all the time I’d spent to get you a new contract, you turned around the next day and had another scandal blasted all over the Internet. No offense, but you’re not exactly my dream client. You’re kind of a nightmare actually.”
“Sorry about that,” I say, meaning every word. “When I go into self-destruct mode, I think I’m only hurting myself, and I don’t even realize how it affects others until I have to deal with the aftermath. I always had my dad around to keep me in line. Anytime he saw me slipping, he’d whip my ass back into shape. He always made me pay in the summer when it was time for his hard-core skill clinics. They were brutal.”
“I’ve heard all about his clinics from players he coached over the years. Your dad was a good coach.” She sits up for a minute to shift her weight and lays her head back down—this time, on my stomach with her arm draped across my body. It’s nice to be able to sit here and talk to a woman I connect with and without feeling the need to do anything other than talk.
I lean my head to the side, just enough that I can see the broad smile on her face.
Even with bloodshot eyes, all puffy and red, she still looks incredibly beautiful as she continues, “He had this energy about him that made everyone around him feel…inspired. Hell, he even convinced me to become a sports agent, and I
never in a million years would’ve considered this as a profession. I was too busy planning for what I hoped would be a professional career that I honestly never even sat down to consider what I would do with my life if I didn’t make it. Your dad was the perfect example of what you should do when you couldn’t pursue your dream. He told me I just needed to take that dream and channel it into something else that would bring me the same joy, and he was right about that. I love my job, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.”
Hearing that my father helped Charlotte as much as he helped me makes me smile. My dad made a difference in so many people’s lives. His funeral was a real testament to the number of lives he’d changed over the years. I feel closer to Charlotte, knowing that she’s one of those people.
Once she closes her eyes, it doesn’t take long for my lids to grow heavy and my lack of sleep to hit me like a gloves-off uppercut to the jaw.
I wake to the sound of Charlotte’s alarm clock, accompanied by a massive migraine and slobber on my stomach. Charlotte’s mouth is hanging open, her arm still draped across my body, and she yells, “Turn it off! Five more minutes.”
Even with drool on her face and mascara smudged under her eyes, she still looks like the girl next door, if that girl was also a feisty sports agent who gets my blood pumping every time I was around her. The last time I had a girlfriend was during my first and only year of college, and I can’t even remember the last time I actually held a woman in my arms. This is…nice.
Reaching for the clock on the nightstand next to me, I have to hold on to Charlotte, tightening my grip so that I don’t disrupt her position. She looks so peaceful and adorable, like a human blanket. I could get used to waking up with Charlotte.
For the first night in months, I slept for more than four hours straight, something I hadn’t done since my father’s death. It’s still dark outside, and the curtains are slightly drawn, providing a perfect view of the waterfront and the lights that illuminate the Delaware River. It’s sort of cool to be in one state while staring at another, like how you can see the lights in Connecticut from the Long Island Sound. From this angle, I can see Camden, New Jersey, about twenty minutes from where our practice facility is located. And I have about one hour until I’m expected to be there.
“Charlotte,” I say, shaking her by the shoulder, “time to wake up, sweetheart.”
Her eyes flutter open, and she rolls onto her back, grazing my skin with her fingertips as she removes her arm from my stomach. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and then moves it behind her head to prop herself up.
“I can’t believe I fell asleep on you again. You must be exhausted from sleeping in such an awkward position all night. I’m so sorry about that.”
“I wanted to stay.” That’s the truth. “Believe it or not, this has been the best sleep I’ve had in a while.”
Sitting up, she yawns and then pulls her legs into her chest, resting her chin on her thighs. She’s all legs, long and toned, and exactly what I want wrapped around me later. Now, if only she were single. I always want the things I can’t have, but don’t all men?
“As your coach, I order you to get more rest. Now that you’re not drinking yourself into a coma, you need to focus on training and keeping yourself in shape.”
I rub a hand over my abs and laugh. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m in amazing shape. You can bounce quarters off these.”
“Okay, Captain Cocky, save it for one of your bunnies. You’re not fooling me. When was the last time you worked out? And don’t even try to tell me that games count because they don’t.”
She’s got me there.
“Um…I guess it was two weeks before I left DC.”
Charlotte frowns. “Alex, that’s pathetic. Seriously. You’re a professional athlete. You need to start acting like one. I want you to commit to at least two days per week where you lift or do something that remotely resembles training.”
“Only two days?”