“You’re going to regret this.”
“No, Rich. I really won’t. I’ll have my lawyer draft up the paperwork.”
“Zand—”
I hang up the phone with that, just as he’s done to me so many times before. Then I shoot Lindsey, my lawyer, a text to let her know what went down.
I’d be lying if I said I felt at ease with my decision. I don’t. Anxiety is crawling through my body, reminding me that I’m royally fucked without an agent as I try to assure myself that it’s the right move. Hockey-wise, it’s career suicide, but for my life outside the rink, it needed to happen.
I have only a couple of days until my next flight when I get to see Stevie, and I need to be able to go to her with more than just an apology as I beg for her forgiveness. I need to show her that I’m trying to change the things in my life that have held me back when I explain why I did what I did—and firing Rich as my agent was at the top of that list.
Lindsey: About damn time. I’ll have the paperwork for you by tonight. Also, when are you planning to talk to her?
Rolling my shoulders back, I attempt to relax, but the thought of this impending conversation has been filling my body with panic since I told my sister my plan. But I need to stay relaxed, not just because tonight’s game determines if we go to the Stanley Cup Finals, but because that woman has caused me too many panic attacks over the years, and I refuse to award her another.
Me: She’ll be here tomorrow.
Lindsey: Proud of you.
Finally, Maddison slips out of the lobby with his head low and covered as reporters snap photos of him. He picks up pace as soon as he’s outside, turning the corner and hopping in my Benz. I press my foot on the gas, taking off before anyone else sees us.
“What the fuck? Were they that bad for you?”
“They weren’t waiting for me, and sorry to burst your bubble, but they weren’t waiting for you either.” I turn on my blinker, merge onto the expressway, and head towards the arena. “Stevie’s name got released a couple of hours ago. They were waiting for her.”
In my peripheral, I can see Maddison’s mouth fall open. “Shit,” he hisses under his breath. “How’d she handle that?”
A proud smile slides across my lips as I keep my eyes on the road ahead of me. “She fucking owned it.”
“Was it Rich?”
“Had to be.” A long pause of silence lingers between us. “I just fired him.”
Quickly, my eyes bounce to Maddison sitting in the passenger seat, stunned silent. Finally, a deep, startled laugh heaves from his chest.
“Fuck yeah, you did!” He shakes my shoulders in celebration. “He’s back! Let’s go!”
“Okay, okay,” I laugh. “I’m driving.”
Maddison settles into his seat with a content sigh. “You know you’re pretty fucked for next season without an agent, right?”
“I know.”
“What are you going to do?”
A sly grin lifts on the side of my mouth. “I guess we’re gonna have to go out with a bang. We’re going to win the Stanley Cup right after I win my girl back.”
47
STEVIE
My toes tap with nerves against the white marble floor as I wait for my Uber to arrive. My suitcase is on the smaller side, just enough to get me through a five-day stay in Seattle. I’m not sure how long it’ll take me to find an apartment, especially one I can afford, but I figured I could use the extra time to explore my new city, and being away from Chicago, where no one knows me, will be good.
There’s no crowd stalking me outside my apartment today, which is a bit surprising, seeing as Zanders and the team won at home last night, clinching their spot in the Stanley Cup Finals. But now that they’ve got their pictures and there’s nothing left to hide, it seems like reporters couldn’t care less about who I am.
Chicago’s first Stanley Cup berth in eight years overtook the headlines, and even though I didn’t look, I’d assume anything about me or our relationship was just a footnote in comparison.
“Doesn’t look like you’re heading to Pittsburgh,” our doorman notes, referring to the team traveling there tomorrow, his eyes locked on my suitcase in tow.
“Not this time.” I offer him a small smile before averting my attention back to the glass doors, waiting for my ride.
He stands next to me, his hands folded behind his back. “You know, Miss Shay. I see a lot. I hear a lot, and I keep a lot of secrets. But you’d have to be blind not to see how much you’re going to hurt that boy if you don’t tell him you’re moving.”