Page 102

“We hear everything.” He grins like this is somehow his superpower. “So anyway. Hunter called Harold, Harold told Millie and Millie called me because apparently this situation required alcohol.” He considers my barely touched whiskey and clicks his tongue. “Judging by your face, she assessed the emergency correctly.”

Stanley finishes sprinkling the candy cane pieces and grabs a lighter, then places it down and frowns at his creation like he's not quite sure what to do with it next.

"Now what I heard is that the lady handed the ring straight back," Stanley continues. "She told the man in the fancy coat the wedding was over and she didn't want him. Fairly loudly, by all accounts."

My heart starts working again for the first time all day.

"And," Stanley continues, still not looking at me, "when the gentleman asked if she was throwing everything away for a hockey player…"

He pauses to place the finishing touch to the steaming glass.

"She didn't say no."

Aidan slaps me on the back hard enough that some whiskey spills over the edge of my glass. Nate just stares at me, looking too fucking smug with his arms crossed while saying absolutely nothing helpful.

"What?" I say. "Why are you both looking at me like that?!"

Nate rolls his eyes so hard I'm surprised they don't dislodge.

"Fuck, Miles. You've spent eleven years waiting for a team to want you. You've spent your whole life waiting for your family to stop relying on you. And now you're sitting here waiting to find out whether a woman wants you, instead of telling her first." He leans in. "Dude. For once in your life, you make the move. You can choose Ottawa. You can choose Audrey. Or you can sit here on this stool and let all of it slip away again while you wait for someone else to give you the answer."

Behind us, Dylan finishes his song and leans into the microphone. "This next one goes out to the idiot at the bar."

Half the room turns to look at me, and I don't even argue.

Because Nate's right.

My whole life, I've been the useful one. The guy who fills gaps. The guy teams call, use, and release. The guy who waits for someone else to decide his value and then thanks them for the opportunity.

Where has it gotten me?

Years of temporary living. A family farm drowning while I chase a dream three thousand miles from everything I love.

I pull out my phone and find Robert Callahan's number.

"Whoa," Nate says, watching my fingers fly across the screen. "What are you doing? I hope you're not texting her."

"Just... shut up for a minute."

Callahan picks up on the third ring. Aidan, Nate and Stanley all lean in like game seven of the playoffs just went to overtime.

"Stratton!" Callahan's voice rings through the speaker. "Good timing, my man. Pearce is drafting the announcement—"

"Robert. Before you say anything else, I want you to know I'm grateful for the offer. Genuinely. For years I waited for a call like yours, and you're the only front office that ever saw what I actually do out there. That means more than you know."

"I'm sensing a but, and I don't like it."

"I'm declining the offer."

The silence on the line lasts long enough for Nate to mouth holy shit at Aidan.

"Stratton," Callahan says slowly, "who outbid us? Did Big Mike call you? Because if it's a money thing, I can go back to—"

"Nobody outbid you."

"Right. Nobody." He laughs, disbelieving. "You're turning down a guaranteed NHL roster spot for nothing? Son, have you lost your mind?"

"Probably." I look at the keys on the bar. "Here's the truth, Robert. That contract is the dream I started chasing when I was eighteen. But I'm not eighteen anymore, and I know what I want now."