Page 2 of Westward

“You know, we’ll need to find a fatted calf,” Callum said deadpan.

I flipped them off.

“I hate you both. But yes, I’ll be there. I’m sure there’s some summer festival that I need to be a part of.” Having grown up in a small town, I was used to festivals. There was one every month. They brought in tourism and kept the town’s morale high. Though the underbelly of the town was always where I tended to reside.

Because my friends were the Ashfords. And that came with its own notoriety.

“Anyway, send me your details, and I can come down and pick you up from the airport if you want.”

“I think I can handle it, hotshot. NHL money’s a little bit better than decade-old NFL money,” I said to the former tight end.

He flipped me off because he loved me, and we said our goodbyes.

As I hung up the phone, my shoulders dropped, and I finally relaxed.

It had taken all within me not to ask about her.

After over a decade, I would’ve thought I would be able to breathe without chest pain when it came to thinking of her. But she was the one who decided to stay home. She was the one who loved Ashford Creek so much that she had never left.

And I had hightailed it out of there for my dreams, to bleed and sweat and break down on the ice. I’d made something of myself.

And I wouldn’t feel shame and anger over what I left behind.

“Hey, Atlas, are you planning on coming to Toppers tonight?” my left wing, Thomas, asked as he moved forward and looked around in his locker.

Toppers was our local bar that many of the players went to. The owner was a former Glider himself, and Toppers was named because he had once hopped over somebody in the Olympics and scored the gold-medal-winning goal.

That meant that he protected our sanity and our privacy. We could go in without getting mobbed by fans—unless that’s something we wanted—and we had time by ourselves. Of course, there was always a puck bunny to pick up on the way out, though I didn’t indulge in that.

Oh, if you looked at any tabloid or influencer feed, you would think that I was with a different woman every night. But I wasn’t the playboy they thought I was. Well, not anymore.

I shook my head, ignoring the lies within my own mind.

“Atlas. You good?”

I nodded. “I need to see Coach later, but I’ll be at Toppers. I want to get in a few stretches while the trainers are still on call.”

“You’re way more disciplined than any of us, and I like it.” Thomas came forward and put his hand on my shoulder. He was my height, considering I was well over six feet, that was saying something. Then again, most hockey players were mountains.

“It wasn’t your fault, you know. None of it. We got to the seventh game, and we all worked our asses off. It wasn’t our year. Stop blaming yourself.”

“Thomas, buddy. You’ve been in this as long as I have. We both know that’s not happening.”

My friend sighed before squeezing my shoulder and grabbing his bag.

“Be safe. I’ll see you tonight. And maybe I’ll come with you to Ashford Creek just to annoy that sister of yours.”

“She’s taken, you know,” I said dryly.

“By a football player. Come on.” He rolled his eyes and headed out, leaving me alone in the locker room. I was usually the first one there, last one out.

I would settle my affairs and head to Ashford Creek for maybe a week. Maybe less. I knew my parents wanted to see me more. Hell, I loved them, but there were reasons I didn’t stay for long. Then again, after next year, I wasn’t sure what would happen. Because my joints knew the truth. Despite the fact I could have another decade in this league, my heart wasn’t in it. And my body had taken one too many beatings.

This had to be my last year.

With that lovely thought, I headed towards the back room, ready to meet up with my trainer. I walked past the showers, noticed one of them was on, and frowned. “Anybody there?” I asked.

With a shrug, I went and turned off the water, annoyed that one of my teammates would’ve left it on. Probably a rookie. Though since the season was over, they weren’t rookies anymore.