Page 40 of In Your Wake

“They’ve dropped me.”

Alert, he sits up. “What?”

“Phil is shopping me around, but it’s not looking good.”

“Shit, man. I’m sorry. What happened?” The pity in his eyes makes me nauseous.

“Don’t be.” I glance around, making sure we’re alone. All that surrounds us is sand, grassy dunes and the Atlantic Ocean. “Honestly? I’m done. I keep thinking that this might not be such a bad thing. Maybe it’s time I hung up the skates and retired early.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he replies, swatting a hand through the air. “You’re not retiring. Hockey is the air you breathe.”

Without answering, I stare at him, my lips pressed in a tight line. He’s exactly right. Hockey is my life. Or at least that’s what I keep telling myself.

Only since returning to Oakwhite, I’ve realized that I may have been living in a bubble of self-denial all this time.

Spencer reads my silent gaze, understanding, and shakes his head. “I can’t believe you’d quit the game.”

“I got an offer to play for Germany, but I’m not taking a huge pay cut to play for some shitty league off in another country. I’ve worked too damn hard to get where I’m at.” I drop my head and rub my eyes. “It’s like I’ve given them everything and now they’re putting me out to pasture. I’m better than that. Don’t I deserve more than that?”

Agreeing, he nods.

As if needing a reminder of my weakness, my hip twinges and I shift in the seat, glancing down at it. “I guess I’m not as indestructible as I thought I was.”

“Fuck you. You’re Mitchell-fucking-Adams,” he says, emphasizing the name as if it means I’m Superman.

“I’m telling you, Spence. My hip is fucked, not to mention I’ve pissed off all the wrong people.”

“But you’ve protected and stood up for a lot of them, too.”

I run a hand down my beard. “Well, it is what it is.”

“That’s it? You’re just going to bow out?” he asks, staring at me as if he hasn’t known me for twenty years. I’m not only letting myself down, but him, too.

“Not sure I have many options. I’m not healing the way I thought I would. And honestly, I’m getting too old for this shit.”

“Too old? Take it easy, you’re thirty-one,” he bites back.

I’ve hit a nerve. We’re the same age, and he’s dating a woman ten years younger than him. Age is a sensitive topic for Spencer.

“You should see the kids these days. They’re unreal. Like nothing I’ve ever seen before. And it doesn’t help that I’m not at my best, either.”

“But you love the game.”

“And always will. But it’s not driving me as hard as it used to.” I’ve never admitted this to anyone before, not even Phil, but to speak the words aloud is cathartic, and my shoulders lighten without the burden of these secrets on my back.

“Shit, man. I can’t even imagine you not on the ice. It’s a part of you.”

There’s sincere sympathy in Spencer’s ocean-blue eyes. He knows hockey has been my life. Most days, it was my sole reason for existing. Leaving the game would definitely hurt. The thought alone fills my heart with an indescribable ache.

“Why don’t you consult or coach, something like that? You’d be great at it. God knows you have the mouth for it,” he jokes.

I play along and smile. “Actually, Phil says my face draws the female demographic, so I’m sure I’d do well as a commentator.”

Spencer reaches over, pinches my chin, and gives it a shake. “With this ugly mug? Never.”

I swat his hand away and laugh. “Screw you. We both know I’m the hot one,” I shoot back, but everyone knows that’s bullshit. He’s the charismatic one, Hunter’s the good-looking one, and I’m the bad boy. A title they gave me a long time ago, but I can’t say it ever suited me, or that it ever felt right.

“True. You’re so fucking hot,” Spencer replies with a good-hearted chuckle.