Page 2 of Get Me to the Starting Line
Ninety percent.
The pang hits my chest again. I glance over at Levi, happy as any eighteen-month-old could be in Nana’s arms.
I’ve got my son. I’ve got a dream job too.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath of the hot Utah air.
I’ve missed the heat. I’ve missed feeling dry. When Paige moved to Vancouver to work for the city’s NHL team, I knew she was running away from everything that haunted her in Utah. Even if it was me who sent her the job application and all but forced her to leave.
Our parents’ deaths. Her shitty ex-boyfriend. A job she was fired from. Her life had gone up in flames. I knew she wasn’t running away from me, but she needed space. She needed to find where she belonged. And she did.
After she left, Utah felt so empty for me. I was never one for the outdoors. Give me A/C over fresh air any day. A hike? No thanks, how about a museum instead. A drive through the countryside? Notfor me. I’ll take being deep in the city, windows up, stuck in traffic with a true crime podcast.
I was lost. Even with Levi, nothing was keeping me in Utah. And since Ian couldn’t rub two shits together for the baby he’d donated sperm for, I was already toying with the idea of following Paige to Vancouver, as long as she felt okay with that—I didn’t want to crowd her if she was enjoying her space.
And then the accident happened. A normal day, driving home from getting groceries, when I got hit by a drunk driver. The pain, the panic—it was unbearable. The drivers here in Utah are insane.
Seriously, they give zero fucks. And this guy, he gave even less. I’m not sure what had him piss drunk in the middle of a Wednesday, but the accident changed my life.
It almost took my life.
Thankfully, Levi wasn’t hurt, but my recovery was brutal. Paige was here for me through it all, and that was the deciding factor. I packed my boxes as soon as I got the stitches out and was cleared by my surgeon.
Goodbye, Utah.
Hello, Vancouver.
The city is everything I’ve wanted. Busy, diverse, beautiful. Fucking expensive as shit, so my crummy two-bedroom apartment isn’t anything to brag about. But I’ve got a view of the mountains and the ocean. And I have A/C so I can enjoy those views from the inside.
It’s pretty rainy though. We moved there in November last year, and it was a big adjustment. I stayed inside a lot, which wasn’tnecessarily a bad thing, just a lonely thing. The summer was pretty perfect, I’ll admit, and I started to come out of my shell. I’ve met some of Paige’s friends and have gone out with a few of my colleagues.
I’m not sure that counts, though, because the stereotype is true: biomedical engineers make for a bit of a boring lot. Myself included. With my research at a halt, you’d think I’d have more time, but it’s the opposite. I’m stuck trying to advance the new piece of technology I began developing before I moved. It’s one of the reasons the University of Vancouver was so willing to sponsor my work visa. It was promising research.
Unfortunately, the research was more promising than the real-world application, and the wall I’ve hit doesn’t bode well for me. If I don’t come up with the right solution or a new idea in the next year, I might find myself packing up and moving back to the States.
In the meantime, we’re coming up on my second winter in Vancouver, and I’m not exactly looking forward to it.
I don’t do cold and wet.
I do dry and comfortable, sitting on the couch with a giant blanket enveloping me, snuggling with Levi—if he’ll let me. He loves being free, so those baby cuddles are getting fewer and farther between.
Isabel’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. Her long blond hair whips out behind her as she collides with her brother and Paige. Adam laughs and hugs his little sister.
“I am SO excited!” she practically shrieks. “You know what this means, right?”
Isabel turns to me and that wicked gleam in her eye can only mean she’s about to be a pain in my ass.
“What?” I say, trepidation filling all of my pores.
“We get to plan a wedding!”
Tap,tap,tap,tap.
“Fuck, man, stop.” Nate, my teammate, glares from across the table. The paper I’m holding crinkles as I involuntarily squeeze my hand, halting the absentminded tapping of my pen. Nate is a class-A douchebag. He knows why I’m stressed. They all do.
It’s my last year on contract with the Whales, and as a thirty-five-year-old goalie, I have a decision to make.
Do I retire?
