Page 1 of Here We Go Again

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BECCA

It’s just like me to put too much trust in a list of rules.

I could argue it’s a product of my work life—in an operating room, rules keep doctors safe and patients alive—but the honest truth is that I was like this long before I became a scrub nurse. Even when I was a little girl, I loved the satisfaction of ticking off each little checkbox on my list of chores.

Order, structure, protocol. That’s how I function best.

Which is why, when my cousin, Indigo, offered me her place in Atlanta for six months of rent-free house sitting, it didn’t even occur to me to say no. There was no reason I couldn’t pick up a travel nursing contract at one of the many, many hospitals in the area, do my own thing, and completely ignore the fact that somewhere in the vast metropolis, my high school boyfriend was living out his childhood dreams as an NHL defenseman for the Georgia Jaguars.

I’ve had eight years of practice following the rules I set up for myself:

Don’t follow his social media accounts.

Don’t look up his team.

Stay away from anything even remotely related to hockey.

Easy.

Ha. Bless my sweet little naive heart. My rules were nowhere near enough for this move.

I step out of the coffee shop on the corner and climb into the car waiting by the curb. I hand my best friend, Mia, her iced latte.

“Thank you very much,” she says. She takes a quick sip before dropping it into the cup holder in the center console, then she turns on her blinker, waiting for traffic to clear so she can drive us the few remaining blocks to the hospital.

Technically, Mia is driving my car, the same Honda Civic I’ve had since high school, but she likes to drive in the morning. I’m happy to let her since she wakes up chipper and ready for the day, and I don’t fully trust myself to be coherent until at least an hour after I’ve had a little caffeine. The hospital is a walkable distance from the condo, but we’ve been using the car more lately. Mostly because late July in Atlanta is miserable. The heat and humidity are enough to make us melt, even at six in the morning when we’re usually heading in for our shifts.

“Did you notice the new billboard?” Mia asks as I pop off the lid of my cappuccino to let it cool.

I follow her gaze to the enormous Georgia Jaguars billboard on the opposite side of the street.

“Seriously?” I mutter. Yesterday, the billboard was a stylized jaguar, crouched like it was ready to pounce on a puck hovering above the words Game On. Subtle, eye-catching, totally benign.

Now, the billboard has been updated to feature a couple of players. I don’t know how many guys are on a professional hockey team. Twenty? Twenty-five? So what are the odds the two they decided to feature on this billboard are my ex and his identical twin brother?

Pretty good, apparently. Because there they are in all their enormous glory.

“Which one is Theo?” Mia asks.

I take in the chiseled jawlines of Theo and Carter Williamson. I’m still not used to this grown-up version of the twins, but I don’t even have to think about it before I say, “The one on the left.”

I never got Theo mixed up with his brother. The charming glint in his eye, the subtle smirk. He was always so easy to know. At least, he was for me.

Since we’re always traveling from city to city for short-term gigs, Mia and I have gotten really good at research. Before we ever show up for our first shift, I’ve identified the best coffee shop and the best place to get french fries, and Mia has mapped out the safest running routes for two women living alone.

But this time, we came in blind. It was an easy sell for Mia. She grew up in North Carolina, two hours north of Atlanta, and had been making noise about visiting her family for months. Throw in free housing in a very posh condo, and she knew all she needed to know.

As for me … ignorance was bliss, I guess? It’s all I can figure—that I was too afraid of what I might find to look too closely. And rightly so. Because we didn’t just move to Atlanta. We moved right into the heart of Georgia Jaguars hockey country.

The arena where the team plays is three blocks away from Indigo’s condo. The hospital where we work is the official healthcare provider for the team. Not to mention the tattoos, the jerseys, the hats, the bumper stickers. Atlanta really, really loves their hockey team.

And now, there’s a billboard of my ex’s face directly across from my favorite coffee shop. Fabulous.

“It’s honestly ridiculous,” Mia says as she eases into traffic and the billboard fades from view. “For them to be that stupid hot.”

I don’t respond, but I doubt Mia actually expects me to. I can share a city with Theo. But that doesn’t mean I want to talk about him.