Page 10 of Pucking Forbidden

She watches me for another second, then mutters “Hardheaded,” before disappearing back inside.

Once she’s gone, I gather up my tools, my mind drifting.

Now that I’m twenty-seven, I’m officially able to be a free agent. Since I came into the NHL through the AHL and the Night Hawks' affiliate teams, I haven’t had a choice to play for anyone else.

Until now.

Now, I have the potential to transfer to Chicago. The team has already come sniffing, prodding to see if I have any interest. No official meetings have happened or anything, just a few emails inquiring about plans and asking if I’d be open to talk. If I did, I could check in on Mrs. Clay every day. Fix things before they break instead of after, and make sure she’s not carrying groceries up those steps alone. I could take care of her, which is all I’ve ever wanted to be able to do.

I lean back against the porch railing, staring out at the street. The only problem with that idea is the fact that Denver isn’t just a team anymore. Those guys are the closest thing I have to a family apart from Mrs. Clay, but at the end of the day, they don’t really need me the way she does.

They’re all building their families. Making real lives for themselves outside of hockey and the Night Hawks. Engagements, weddings, and kids…it feels like they're all moving forward and I’m sort of stuck in place.

Mrs. Clay is the only person I know for sure who needs me.

It’s not only that the other guys are building their own lives, however. Winning back-to-back Cups has changed things for the whole organization. The guys have leaned into it in different ways, making sponsorship deals, securing partnerships, building brands, and thinking about what comes next when our days on the ice end.

Grace has been right in the middle of it, juggling offers and setting up meetings for everyone. She’s tried with me, more than once, but I don’t have the charisma and charm the other guys do. My mind wanders back to my last meeting with her. She tried to sell me a sponsorship offer where I’d be the spokesperson for an energy drink.

“Just hear them out,” she’d said, sliding a folder across the table. “You don’t have to commit to anything, but you should at least know what’s out there.”

I didn’t even open it.

“Not my thing,” I told her.

She didn’t push too hard, but I could tell she was disappointed. She’s just trying to look out for me, but I didn’t grow up with wealth like Jayce and Jensen, or even a stable fucking family like Carson and Zander to teach me how to interact with society. I’m too gruff and blunt. Not handsome or approachable like the other guys. I hate being in front of crowds, and I’m shit at public speaking. I’m not cut out for the public, celebrity life.

I turn and make my way back inside, my mind still spinning. I’m just good at hockey, and when that ends…I don’t know what I’ll have left, except for Mrs. Clay.

In the few messages I’ve gotten from Chicago, the number they’ve hinted at is already bigger than what I have with the Night Hawks, and we haven’t even gotten close to negotiating anything. More money means I could save more and build up a bigger nest egg for when I retire and don’t have anything else to pivot to. I’m not an idiot, and I’m not naive…I’d be stupid not to even consider moving back here.

“Julian.”

Startled, I look up and find Mrs. Clay is standing in front of me in the kitchen, dish towel in hand. I was so lost in thought, I didn’t even realize I’d been standing in the middle of the room, just staring off into space.

I straighten. “Huh? What’s up?”

She tilts her head, studying me with pursed lips. “You’ve been in your head all day.”

God, she doesn’t miss a thing, does she?

I huff out a breath and shrug. “Just thinking.”

“Mmhmm.”

She doesn’t move or look away, and just gazes up at me through narrowed eyes.

I shift from one foot to another, suddenly feeling like a teenager again, trying to hide something from her. “What?”

She slings her dish towel over her shoulder and puts her hands on her hips.

“Don’t make decisions out of fear,” she states.

I blink, caught off guard. The fuck? Can she read minds now? “I’m not…”

She snorts and shakes her head. “Don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes, young man. I know you better than that.”

“I’m just thinking about options,” I mutter, dropping my gaze and slipping my hands into my pockets.