The Mistake

“The assistant GM.”

My eyes nearly bug out of their sockets. I knew Coach had connections—of course he does, he was in Pittsburg for seven seasons, for fuck’s sake—but when he said “friend” I assumed he meant a lower-level minion in the head office. Not the assistant general manager.

“Look, it’s no secret you’ve been on the radar of every scout since your high school career. And you already know I’ve had inquiries about you before. Anyway, if you’re interested, they want you to come in and practice with the Providence Bruins.”

Jesus Christ.

They want me to practice with the development team for the Boston fucking Bruins?

I can barely wrap my head around it. All I can do is stare at Coach. “They’d want me for Providence?”

“Maybe. When they’re interested in taking a look at you, they don’t usually put you on the ice with the big boys. They test you out with the minor team first, see how you do.” His voice rings with intensity I rarely hear off the ice. “You’re good, John. You’re really fucking good. Even if they choose to develop you in Providence first, it won’t be long before you’re called up and playing on the roster you deserve to be on.”

Christ. This can’t be happening. I’m in the Garden of fucking Eden, salivating over that goddamn apple. The temptation is so strong I can taste the victory. This isn’t just a pro team holding out the apple—it’s the team. The one I grew up rooting for, the one I’ve fantasized about playing for since I was seven years old.

Coach studies my face. “With that said, I wanted to check if you’ve reconsidered your plans after graduation.”

My throat goes drier than dust. My heart races. I want to shout Yes! I’ve reconsidered! But I can’t. I made a promise to my brother. And as big of an opportunity as this is, it’s not big enough. Jeff won’t be impressed if I announce I’m going to be playing for a farm team. Nothing short of a plum contract with the Bruins will convince him to let me have this, and even then, he’d probably still balk.

“No, I haven’t.” It kills me to say it. It kills me.

From the frustration shadowing Coach’s eyes, I can tell he senses that. “Look. John.” He speaks in a measured tone. “I understand why you didn’t opt in. I really do.”

Other than my brother, and now Garrett, Coach is the only other person who knows I didn’t enter the draft. In that first eligible year, I pretended I’d missed the deadline to declare, which led to Coach dragging me into this very office and screaming at me for forty-five minutes about what an irresponsible idiot I am and how I’m wasting my God given talents. Once he calmed down, he started muttering about calling in favors to try to make me eligible, at which point I had no choice but to tell him the truth. Well, some of the truth. I told him about my dad’s accident, but not the drinking.

Since then, he hasn’t harassed me about it—until now.

“But this is your future we’re talking about,” he finishes gruffly. “If you pass this up, you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life, kid. I guarantee it.”

Yeah, no guarantee needed. I know I’ll regret it. Hell, I already regret a lot of things. But family comes first, and my word means something. To me, to Jeff. I can’t go back on it now, no matter how tempting this is.

“Thanks for letting me know, Coach. And please thank your friend for me.” I swallow a lump of despair as I slowly rise to my feet. “But my answer is no.”

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

Grace’s soft voice and timid expression make my chest ache. I don’t know why she bothered asking me that, because obviously this is the last thing I want to do. It’s what I have to do.

Although I went straight to her dorm after practice and wasted no time telling her about my talk with Coach, now I’m kinda wishing I kept it to myself. I told her about my plans for the future a few days after we started dating, but even though she hasn’t said it out loud, I know she disagrees with them.

“I didn’t want to say no,” I say roughly. “But I have to. My brother expects me to move back home the moment I graduate.”

“What about your dad? What does he expect?”

I lean my head against the stack of decorative pillows on her bed. They smell like her. Sweet and feminine, a soothing fragrance that relaxes some of the tension wedged in my chest.

“He expects us to help him run his business because he can’t do it himself. That’s what family does. You pitch in when you’re needed. You take care of each other.”

She frowns. “At the expense of your dreams?”

“If it comes down to that, yes.” This entire conversation is too dismal, so I tug her toward me. “Come on, let’s put on the movie. I need some explosions and gunfights to distract me from my misery.”

Grace grabs her laptop and gets the movie ready, but when she tries to place the computer between us, I shift it to my lap so there’s no barrier to keep her from snuggling beside me. I love holding her. And playing with her hair. And leaning in to kiss her neck whenever the urge strikes.

I haven’t been in a relationship since high school, but being with Grace is different than it was with my old girlfriends. It feels…more mature, I guess. Back then we just talked about trivial bullshit, and filled in the silences by fooling around. But Grace and I actually talk. We talk about our days and our classes, our childhoods, our futures.