Page 1 of Westward

Prologue

ATLAS

“Are you planning on coming home anytime soon?” my younger sister asked, and I rolled my eyes, even though I wanted to come home. It was in the plans. After all, I got a couple of months at the end of each season for myself. I could travel the world, I could train—and I would—or I could go back to Ashford Creek. And considering that’s where the rest of my family lived, it sounded like a good bet.

“Yes, I’ll be there, pipsqueak.”

“You don’t need to call me that. It’s quite rude.” She fluttered her eyelashes, and I noticed how happy she looked. She had a job she loved, even though I knew she missed her old boss, who’d passed away recently. She was near the family again, no longer a couple of hours away, and was dating one of my friends.

I scowled at that, still a little annoyed just for the show of it. I liked Callum. He was a good guy and seemed to care about Felicity. I trusted him with my life, so I might as well trust him with my sister.

“You’re still my little sister, so I can call you what I want.”

“You know I can beat your ass, right?” a deep voice said from behind my sister.

I snorted. “Listening in on private conversations, old man?”

Felicity just rolled her eyes. “Stop calling him an old man. You’re not that much younger.”

“Ouch,” Callum said with a laugh.

I joined him in his laughter, but it took me a few moments to recover. My body hurt.

Our season had ended, but not exactly how I’d wanted it to go. We’d made it all the way to the third round, and I hadn’t been good enough.

One too many pucks had gotten through our D-line, and then soon, to the net. I hadn’t been fast enough, flexible enough, or just good at my job. I knew we were a team effort, but I was the last line of defense. Literally.

I was still as strong as I ever was. Hell, I was stronger than I had been when I’d been drafted. But I was thirty-one now. Ancient in terms of the NHL. And the Portland Gliders still liked me, but I only had one more year on my contract. I wasn’t sure if I would be picked up and re-signed or traded. It could be time for the scary word no one mentioned.

Retirement.

My hands hurt, my neck hurt, my lower back, my hips, my knees. Everything.

I had a damn massage therapist on call and worked with PT often. I wasn’t even stupid anymore, like when I thought I could just handle it on my own. I would do everything in my power in order to play better and improve my worth. I made millions just by blocking.

And I had failed.

I fucking sucked.

“I’ll be there, Felicity. I’m just dealing with a couple of extra meetings with my agent and the team, and I want to get in a good workout with the guys. Plus, it’s Benny’s birthday in two days, and we’re throwing a huge bash. Twenty-one is a big age.” I rolled my eyes at that, wondering when I’d started feeling like the granddad of the group.

“Tell Benny I said hi. He was nice the last time I was there.”

“How nice?” Callum asked as he came forward so I could see him on the screen.

My lips twitched, feeling slightly lighter than I had in a while. “Overprotective much? Don’t worry, she’d break Benny. He’s far too much of a young pup.”

“I don’t know if I should take that as a compliment or hit you through the phone,” my sister said dryly.

I shrugged. “You love me.”

“I do. Although you should probably start plucking your eyebrows a bit. I know you’re not going gray, yet… but they are looking a bit bushy. What will your Instagram followers think when their favorite eyebrow account starts posting those?” She stuck her tongue in her cheek, and I flipped her off.

“Excuse me. I have beautiful eyebrows.”

Callum and Felicity laughed as we continued to talk about the comings and goings of Ashford Creek. My eyebrows were damn amazing. Yes, I had a scar on the right one thanks to a skate that had gotten a little too high, but they were perfection in the eyes of many. Hence, a fan-run Instagram account that haunted me. I didn’t actually go on there. People loved it, and it had even gotten me a skincare campaign. My friends could go pose in their underwear like I used to for billboards, but I had three products to nourish my skin. Because apparently getting wrinkles when you were thirty-one wasn’t a good thing. Mine were usually laugh lines, though I hadn’t really been laughing lately. No, I wasn’t going to think about that.

“So you’ll be here? You’d better tell Mom and Dad too, so they can plan your welcome-home dinner.”