“I am. I just need some time to think. That’s why I’m here.”
“Well. We’re glad you’re here,” Mom sets a big platter of waffles on the island. “Eat up.”
I shoot her a look of gratitude, but I know it’s a reprieve. This isn’t done.
Maybe I should go to Tofino.
I could be totally alone. Stare at the ocean. Walk on the beach. Surf. It’d be perfect.
Another expensive flight to Vancouver and a ferry ride to the island later, I’m in Tofino. This time, I’m staying at a five-star resort that combines rustic with luxury. Nestled among ancient pine trees, my suite overlooks Chesterman Beach.
I love this place, even though I spent some of the worst days of my life here. It’s quiet and peaceful. I love the scent of pines mingled with the salt of the ocean. I love the waves crashing onto rocks and sand. I spend hours hiking and walking along the beach, sometimes finding a warm, dry rock to sit on and look out at the ocean, sometimes exploring small caves. Vast and wild and mysterious, the never-ending rhythm of the water calms something inside me. It helps me think.
I do a lot of thinking.
What the fuck am I going to do?
I want that Bears contract. Kate is right. It’s everything I wanted. The money’s not top dollar but I’m not a top dollar player. I want them to commit to me for three years. I want to feel like I’m valued. I know I had an unusual path to professional hockey and I’m grateful every day to the Storm for taking a chance on me, and now the Bears want to do it for three years. I should be ecstatic.
But I keep thinking about Easton and Josh. I keep thinking about how seeing them every day is going to affect me. I’m terrified I can’t handle that. What if I sign a contract for three years and in the first month I fall apart?
Fuck. I have to have more confidence in myself than that.
This whole thing has sent me spiraling back in time, to right after the bus crash, when I couldn’t sort out what I was thinking or feeling. I can’t feel like that again.
Walking on the beach, I pick up a piece of driftwood. I like the shape of it, the smoothness and soft curves. I carry it with me as I amble barefoot through the sand.
What if I’ve screwed up not only the Bears’ deal but the other two offers as well? What if I’ve fucked up my whole career? Again?
The thought has me dropping to my ass on the sand to stare out at the water. I can’t do that again. I can’t let that happen again.
I’ve only been gone a few days. Surely Kate won’t let that happen?
I was an asshole to her, though. It would serve me right.
It’s easy to blame her for what’s happening, but deep inside I know this is not her fault. I was pissed that she was pushing me, pissed that she thought she could fix me when I’m so broken I can never be fixed. I’ve known that all along.
I drop my head forward, closing my eyes.
That’s the other issue. I love Kate. I don’t want to be broken. I want to be whole, for her. I want her to love me back. And now I’ve pretty much made sure that’ll never happen.
My throat closes up. In a way, this thought has me ganked up even more than losing my hockey career.
Kate.
My mind is full of images of her, going all the way back to college. Her red cheeks as I handed over her pink lace panties in the dorm. Her confidence and hockey knowledge that destroyed idiots who thought women didn’t know anything about hockey. Her tears that day she was so overwhelmed with life, when she was always so disciplined and fearless.
The day I saw her kissing Henry in the kitchen at Bingo’s. The crushing disappointment I felt, when I’d finally gotten up the nerve to ask her out.
* * *
And that night in Cancun. When she was finally all mine.
And then I had to leave.
Now, I’ve left her again. Fucking running away from my feelings, because I’m scared. Because I don’t believe I can ever really have her. She’ll never love me.
What the hell can I do about all this?
Maybe I should go see Roberta again. The counselor I saw after the accident. I wonder if she has time?
I pull out my phone, but service is weak here.
I start walking, my steps lengthening. I have to call her. I have to talk to her. She’ll help me figure things out.
When I’m close to the resort, I sit on a bench on a bluff and unlock my phone again. I don’t have her number anymore, but a quick Google search brings it up. Taking a deep breath, I set my thumb on the “call” button.
I have to leave a voice mail, which sucks, because this is urgent, goddammit. My heart is zooming and I feel like I’m going to burst out of my skin.
Okay, okay. Calm down. You can wait.
I enter the hotel and head to the restaurant. It’s lunch time, so I should eat. I’m seated at a pine table at the window and I order a grilled ham and cheese sandwich and a Coke.
I’m taking a drink of the Coke when my phone beeps with a call.
Holy shit, it’s Roberta already.
I answer the call. “Hi. Roberta?”
“Yes! Hi, Hunter. I’m so surprised to hear from you.”
“I’m in town.” I pause, staring out the window with hot eyes. “I’m, uh, having a hard time. I was wondering if I could see you.”
There’s a brief pause, then I hear the clicking of a mouse. “I am so booked up,” she says, and my heart dips. “But you know what? I could see you tonight. Six o’clock?”
I lick my lips. “Are you sure?”
“Of course.”
“Okay. Great. Same place, right?”
“Yes, that’s right. See you then.”
I end the call and blow out a long stream of air. Okay. Okay, that’s done, that’s good.
Now I’m really wired up. I walked all morning, now what am I going to do? Maybe it’s a good day to rent a surfboard and hit the waves.
That’s how I spend the afternoon, floating, catching waves, trying to keep my balance. It takes my focus away from my screwed-up thoughts until it’s time to drive to Roberta’s office a couple of blocks off Main Street.
I wait in the private entrance, which I learned is separate from the exit so people don’t run into each other. I always appreciated the protection of privacy, and even more so now.
Roberta’s door opens and she steps into the opening. “Hello, Hunter.”
“Hi.” I stand. “How are you?”
“I’m very well, thank you.”
I feel a rush of almost affection. We spent so much time together and she helped me so much, but her demeanor is always professional and polite. We don’t even shake hands.
I follow her and she closes the door. The room is the same, but she has new furniture, a nice blue couch and several armchairs. I sit in a chair. Through the window I can see the coffee shop across the street.
“Are you here on vacation?” Roberta asks me, also taking a seat. Her short silver hair frames a kind face with big red glasses, her lips also red.
“Sort of. It’s the off season.” One thing I learned about Roberta is that she knows nothing about hockey. I explain to her briefly how I came to be here.
She listens attentively as always and asks a few questions that get me talking. I tell her about my career and needing a new contract and a new agent at the same time, and what’s transpired.