A Perfect Strategy

“I wasn’t sure I wanted to continue next season, so I guess that makes my decision for me.”

“You’re sure you don’t want to coach?” Andy patted his mouth with his napkin. “I’ve had feelers from several GMs about you. A future Hall of Famer is always of interest.”

Scott ate the piece of steak, using the time to mull that over. He’d done some work with the Cats this past season, helping the younger players tighten up their defensive tactics. He liked to think he’d played his part in helping the team win the Cup, even if he hadn’t been out there on the ice with them.

Getting his name etched on the silver chalice one last time had been cool, though it hadn’t made up for losing it the previous season. For sure, it hadn’t been the same as winning it as a player.

“I enjoy stopping by practice to work on drills with the guys,” he said finally. “But I don’t want to do it full-time. Or have the responsibility for running the team, day in and day out. I don’t have the patience. It drives me nuts to work on plays and then see it all fall apart come game time because they forget how to execute in the heat of the moment.”

Andy gave an exaggerated shudder. “You and me both. That’s the problem when you’re naturally talented. You can’t teach what’s in your gut.”

“I hope your gut is enjoying my food.” Ryan Grey clapped a hand on Scott’s shoulder. “Good to see you, bro.”

“You, too, man.” Scott stood and greeted his friend and former teammate.

Ryan’s career had been cut short by repeated concussion issues. After a troubled few years, he’d decided to turn his love of cooking into his next career and now ran one of the most successful high-end steak houses in the tristate area, if not the whole East Coast.

“It’s been a while.” Ryan topped up Andy’s red wine. “How’s retirement treating you?”

“Still finding my feet,” Scott admitted. “If I was a better cook, I’d give you a run for your money.”

“You could try.” His friend grinned. “But I won’t be losing sleep over it. You’re a better D-man than chef.”

“True.” Scott didn’t take offense. He had enough culinary skills to survive without starving and had a sharp dialing finger for takeout and delivery. “Still, I can grill a mean burger.”

“Maybe you should open a sports bar.” Grey relit the candle on the table and straightened the centerpiece. “Don’t you have a business degree, too?”

Scott nodded. It was a bit clichéd—retired pro athlete putting his name to an eatery—but it could be fun. “That’s a good idea. I may look into it.”

“Anything I can do to help, give me a shout. I’m happy to share what I’ve learned.” Grey’s head lifted. “I have to go—my maître d’ is signaling. Don’t be a stranger.”

“I have a guy in my organization who specializes in second-career investment opportunities. He’s helped some football players with bars and nightclubs. I’ll put you in touch with him.” Andy pointed his wineglass toward Scott. “No pressure, but he’ll give you the facts and figures of what’s involved.”

“I’d appreciate his insights. But I’d still like to keep my hand in hockey somehow.”

Even though he knew his body couldn’t take playing at the highest level anymore, he didn’t feel old enough to be retired. He kept in shape and skated regularly. After so many years playing, he couldn’t give up hockey completely.

He wasn’t really part of the Ice Cats any longer. He was like an honorary uncle: included and indulged, but not a true family member. And he hadn’t felt like part of the commentating group—they’d been together a few years and it had been hard to slot into their tight-knit circle. Since his divorce one year ago, he sure as hell hadn’t felt like part of his family.

Andy signaled for the check. “You could join me and become an agent. Some of my best guys are former players. You definitely have what it takes.”

That was a major compliment. His agent didn’t bullshit or give praise lightly.

Driving home, Scott kept Andy’s advice front of mind. A couple of the opportunities they’d discussed made more sense than the commentating. In truth, the network had done him a favor by not renewing his contract.

Scott pulled into his garage and parked. As the door rumbled closed behind him, he took his time getting out of the car. Putting off the moment when he’d have to walk into the dark, empty house. Something he’d dreaded for the past year.

The divorce had come out of left field. Hell, it had been a freaking fastball from another freaking ballpark.

He’d assumed when he retired, he and Celine would spend more time together, especially now that both Angela and Wayne were in college. Since Scott and Celine wouldn’t be driven by the brutal schedule that had dictated their lives from September to June every year since they’d met, they would finally be able to do the things they’d always talked about. Instead, she’d left him.

His bitter laugh echoed around the garage. That was one play he hadn’t read at all.

Scott walked through the house, turning on lights. He kicked off his shoes in the front hall, then went into the living room and flicked on the flat-screen. Relieved to have noise—he didn’t care what channel was on—he padded to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of wine. Then headed for his den.

The silence was the worst. For the past couple months, his kids had hung out here a lot, particularly while their mom was traveling. But this week, they’d both headed back to college early—Angela had wanted to get a head start on her third-year projects and Wayne had football practice.

Leaving Scott alone in a house he’d never really felt was home. He’d bought it for Celine when he became captain. A thank-you for all the sacrifices she’d made and the fantastic job she’d done with their kids. While his responsibilities at the rink and with the team had taken up more time, she’d decorated, extended and remodeled, until it was perfect.

And it was. Perfectly color coordinated. Perfectly furnished. Probably perfectly freaking feng shuied, too. All he knew was that other than in his den—where she’d given him free rein—he felt like he was in a show house.

He’d have been happy to give it to her when they split up, but she’d wanted a sleek apartment in the city. Less bother while she was traveling. Not wanting to get rid of the family home while his kids still technically lived there, he’d agreed to hold on to it until Wayne graduated. But he couldn’t bring himself to use more than a few rooms.

In his den, he dropped onto the sofa and turned on the Yankees game. Top of the fifth, and they were beating the Red Sox by four runs. Good news, but not enough to distract him. Maybe he’d sit in bed and read. The latest Robert Crais was next up on his nightstand; Elvis Cole was always good for taking his mind off things.

Scott walked back through the house, turning off lights and the TV in the living room. The thick vellum invitation on the mantel caught his attention.

Crap. He’d forgotten all about J.B. and Issy’s reception. The pair had been married during the play-offs in a quickie civil ceremony but were having a full-blown celebration now that the successful Cup run was over and players were heading to New Jersey for their preseason preparations.

Scott was glad for J.B., but he wasn’t looking forward to attending yet another function stag. At least there would be plenty of Cats and their families there, so he wouldn’t be stuck making small talk with people he didn’t know.

That brought to mind the earlier conversation over dinner. He was out of a job.

He’d never not known where he was headed. He hated feeling rudderless.

Damn it. Why hadn’t he seen this coming?

As he walked upstairs, he stopped to look at the family pictures that lined the wall. One for each year he and Celine had been married. For the first time he noticed that the writing had been on this wall, literally, if he’d bothered to notice. The happy smiles had become stilted over the years. The body language more brittle. He and Celine had been wrapped in each other’s arms on their first anniversary, but by the final picture, taken last summer, they were as far apart as physically possible, with their kids almost like a buffer between them.

The truth was that he missed his kids and hockey more than he missed his wife.

Scott sank onto the top step and rested his elbows on his knees, staring into the glass of red wine like it held all the answers.

Unfortunately, it didn’t.

* * *

SAPPHIRE HOULIHAN’S LIFE WAS, to quote Mary Poppins, practically perfect in every way. She had a fabulous career, running her own successful management consultancy. She was healthy and fit and had finally lost the extra ten pounds she’d been carrying since college. Though after the one or two...okay...several to-die-for desserts she’d eaten at this wedding reception, she’d probably put half of those pounds back on. She had a busy social life and an active sex life, with absolutely no strings attached to either.

Everything was just how she liked it. Simple, straightforward, easy to manage.

So why did she feel so...restless? Unsettled?

Sapphie sipped her champagne and looked around the glittering ballroom. Her Louboutined foot tapped to the rock beat of an oldie but goody. The party was in full swing.

Her heart warmed to see her childhood friend Isabelle Brandine—no, Isabelle Larocque now—dancing with her husband, Jean Baptiste. Issy looked so happy. Who’d have thought a playboy hockey player, and a vacation fling at that, would turn out to be The One for conservative Issy.

Of course, there was the little matter of baby Sophia—currently being cooed over by J.B.’s mom—the result of that fling and an unfortunately timed bout of food poisoning. Sapphie believed her goddaughter was the catalyst for bringing Issy and J.B. together. So, despite a troubled path, their story had a happy ending.