Chapter Two

Natalie Carpenter woke up to the sound of the Wake Up, USA theme song. It brought back memories of elementary school sick days spent watching daytime TV with her grandma. She wiped a hand across her face and squinted at the screen. She hadn’t turned it on. She scanned the room, her eyes bouncing over the beer bottles on the coffee table, and realized she’d fallen asleep on the couch. Pathetic.

She sat up at the word “Olympics.” She turned up the volume, regretting it immediately when the throbbing in her head intensified. She needed to hear the news again. Maybe if she heard it on TV, it would feel real. Real was all she could hope for because she wasn’t going to feel better anytime soon.

Her phone vibrated with a new text. Her best friend, Grace.

Turn off the TV. If you are watching right now, turn it off. Seriously, Nat. Don’t torture yourself.

Natalie flipped her phone over. Grace meant well, but Natalie needed to watch the anchor read off the names and tell the viewers, most of whom didn’t follow women’s hockey, who the next star was going to be for Team USA. She needed to hear the anchor say that she’d been cut, that she’d gone from being the captain of the gold-medal-winning team four years ago to a has-been sitting on her shitty couch in her shitty apartment.

Hungover and running on a few hours of sleep didn’t help but it was fitting that her physical and mental states matched. Natalie Carpenter never did anything halfway. Why would feeling like a dumpster fire be any different?

She saw the roster flash on the screen next to the anchor. She expected not to see her name—she knew it wouldn’t be there—but she didn’t anticipate the cold, prickling sensation flooding her body. The shame mixed with sadness overwhelmed her. She watched, not hearing the words coming from his mouth until he said “Darcy LaCroix.”

She blinked, forcing her sluggish brain to make sense of seeing Darcy for the first time in four years. What the hell was she doing on TV? Then Darcy was talking about Natalie’s career as a player, and why she got cut.

Natalie sat up, her head pounding. Damn, she looked good on that screen. Deep inside her, teenage Natalie’s heart stuttered at the sight of her former teammate. It only lasted a second. As soon as Darcy explained why Natalie lost her spot on the team and mentioned her replacement, Natalie’s heart hardened. Hurt-infused anger consumed her.

“Even if this isn’t the way she hoped her career would end, Carpenter can retire with her head held high.”

Natalie punched the remote and muttered, “Fuck you, LaCroix.”

She looked across the room at her Team USA bag. She should have been getting ready to fly with her team one more time, not lying on her couch listening to her former teammate, a woman she once loved, talk about her retirement.

Retirement was for old people, not thirty-five-year-olds. Unless you were one of those douchebag hedge fund manager guys, no one retired at thirty-five. Natalie’s parents weren’t even retired yet.

But they weren’t professional athletes.

Now, neither was she.

Her phone buzzed on the table. She ignored it until it vibrated off the table and onto the floor with a crash. Fuck, her head hurt.

She smacked the phone and put it on speaker. Holding it to her ear was more than she could manage in her pathetic state.

“You watched it, didn’t you?”

“Hi, Grace.”

“I told you to turn that shit off. Your life would be so much easier if you would listen to me.”

Natalie groaned. “Unless you can go back in time and tell me not to drink that fourth beer last night, I’m not sure how listening to you would change anything.”

“I know this sucks, especially because of Darcy.”

Natalie sighed. Grace had been her best friend since they were randomly assigned to be roommates her first year of college. Grace had an irritating ability to be right most of the time, even if Natalie didn’t want to acknowledge that now.

“I can hear a ‘but’ coming.”

“It sucks, but you have to think about what you’re going to do next. You’re thirty-five, you have to have known you weren’t going to be playing hockey forever. What’s your plan?”

“You sound like my parents. I don’t know what’s next. I thought I had a couple more months to figure it out. I thought we’d win gold and then I’d see what kind of offers came my way.”

Grace snorted into the phone.

“Yes, I know that I sound like a gigantic asshole. Instead, it turns out I’m a washed-up hockey player with no job.”

“You’re not a washed-up anything. You knew this was coming eventually. Stop moping around, take a couple Advil, drink some water, and figure out what you want to do with the rest of your life. I’ll call you tomorrow when you’re not hungover and whiny.”

“I’m not whiny!”

“Talk to you tomorrow! Love you, Nat.”

After she hung up, Natalie collected the beer bottles from the table and tried not to bang them together as she rinsed them and put them in the recycling bin. Every time they clinked together, it sent a shock wave through her brain. Fuck, why on earth did she drink that last beer?

The beer didn’t fix anything, but at least it helped her forget the look in her coaches’ eyes when they told her she was done.

Getting cut sucked but having them look at her like she should have seen it coming made her feel worse than anything. It made her feel ashamed in a place where she was used to being proud. And now she had to see that same look in Darcy’s eyes. Fuck this day.

Her phone buzzed again. Her parents. Dammit. They’d been sad and supportive when she broke the news that she wasn’t going to her fourth Olympics. They said all the right things, but it didn’t take away how awful she felt being cut from a team that in the past felt more like a family. Being told you were no longer good enough hurt more than she could explain to anyone who hadn’t been through it.

“Hi, Mom.”

“How did you know I wasn’t your father?” She could hear her mom’s smile through the phone.

“Dad never calls. If I talk to him, it’s because I’ve called and he hasn’t found you to hand over the phone yet.”

She laughed. “How are you doing, sweetheart?”

“Fine.”

“It’s not nice to lie to your mother, Natalie.” The silence stretched between them. “I know you’re devastated. I’m sure you’ve cried and had too many beers.” She paused. “I thought it might be time for you to come home for a bit.”

No way. “I’m not twelve.”

“And I’m not stupid. You can’t wallow in that apartment forever. The sooner you come home, eat some decent food, and get your feet back under you the better.”

Natalie rolled her eyes. “I’m fine. I can handle myself without you and Dad hovering over me. I’m a grown-up.”

Her mom laughed. “You’re nothing close to a grown-up.”

“I’m thirty-five!”

“I know, sweetie, but the only job you’ve ever had is playing hockey. No matter what you do next, it’s going to be a big transition. If you come home we can support you until you figure out whatever the next thing is.”

Natalie took a deep breath; her mom was just being kind. She was trying to make sure Natalie was all right. But having to move back home with her parents would really be the cherry on top of her failure sundae.

Unemployed, former hockey player sounded bad enough without having to tell people she was sleeping in her childhood bedroom.

“You could help your father. He always needs someone to help out around the shop.”

Natalie sighed. “I’m not a plumber.” Her headache had stopped being a persistent throb and turned instead into a blinding pulse she couldn’t ignore. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll find something to do with myself. I’m a big girl. I can handle finding a job here.”

Her mom sighed into the phone. “I know you can, but we think it would be easier, better for you to come home. Your brother’s right up the road. If you don’t want to work with your father, I’m sure Brian would be happy to pay you to watch the boys.”

From three-time Olympian to charity case babysitter in less than ten days. Fuck. My. Life.

“I gotta go. There’s someone at the door.” She hung up before her mom had a chance to point out how absurd that lie sounded. Natalie slumped onto her couch and ran a hand through her shoulder-length, dirty-blonde hair before cradling her forehead. She needed water, Advil, and a nap.

Instead, she opened her banking app. Natalie’s bank account showed exactly how poorly she and her teammates were compensated for their world-class skills.

She needed a job. Soon. Otherwise, she was going to be spending the next few weeks packing everything she owned into her beat-up Honda and driving back to her parents’ house.

But what could an unemployed, former hockey star find for work on short notice? A hockey player who hadn’t had a “real job” in years thanks to the rigors of training with the national team.

She let her head fall back against the soft cushions on her couch. She was utterly and completely fucked.