Davey

Table of Contents Davey Roster Spotlight Playlist Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Epilogue Acknowledgments Colorado Grizzlies About Skylar Platt DAVEY By Skylar Platt Copyright © 2023 by Skylar Platt This book is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted without written permission from the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Cover Design by Denise D. Wood Formatting by Uplifting Author Services Look for Skylar Platt on Instagram www.instagram.com/skylarplattauthor Join my Facebook group www.facebook.com/groups/skylarsswoonroom For Surry My running buddy, my snuggle buddy and the smartest dog I’ve ever had. I miss you every single day Davey TRUST firm belief in the reliability, truth, ability, or strength of someone or something. SURRENDER cease resistance to an enemy or opponent For years I blamed Carter for everything wrong in my life… …what if he turns out to be everything that’s right? ROSTER SPOTLIGHT DAVIS ‘Davey’ FRANKLIN GEORGE Director of Player Development Height: 6-4 Weight: 225 Hair: blond Eyes: hazel Shoots: Left Born: St. Paul, MN Age: 46 Languages: English NHL teams played for: St. Louis and New York Defenseman #74 Front Office Career Assistant coach – Arizona Head scout – Colorado, Buffalo Director of Player Development – Color PLAYLIST Don’t Give Up On Me – Andy Grammar Power Over Me – Dermot Kennedy In My Blood – Shawn Mendes It’s Always Been You – Phil Wickham Make You Feel My Love – Adele Running Away – James Arthur Half Hearted – We Three Moonlight Sonata #14 – Beethoven, Paul Lewis Stairway to Heaven – Francesco Digilio Experience – Pietro Scichilone One Seven Years Ago DAVEY “YOU OKAY?” I ASKED. I bowed my head and shook it. “I’m sorry, that might be the most asinine question I’ve ever asked you.” Brady smiled and tipped his chin. “Possibly.” He let out a sigh and stared out over his expansive patio to the golf course, where I’m guessing he’d rather be at the moment. I waited for him to speak next if he wanted. Allowing the silence to settle over us, only the hushed whispers of condolences floating out the back doors of the house. “You know, in a way, I actually am… okay,” he glanced my way and then back out to the sloping, perfectly manicured greens. “If that makes sense.” I furrowed my brow, not sure where he was headed at first, and then it clicked. Casey, his wife, died of cancer. It had been a battle to the end—several years. These final six months had been horrific for Brady. For Casey. For all of us. “She doesn’t have to fight anymore. She’s at peace now.” He said. I nodded again, even though he wasn’t looking at me. “Now maybe you can find some, too.” He smiled at that and turned. He placed a hand on my shoulder, and I turned, too, and watched him return to the house. If anyone deserves some peace in this world, it is Brady Michaels. He has been everyone’s rock, everyone’s pillar ever since I’ve known him. Ever since we met as assistant coaches in Phoenix, and he latched onto me and dragged me to Colorado with him when he was named head coach. I scanned the open door and into the house. People were filtering out. I wanted to do that too. I wanted to escape. Devyn, the team PR director, is still here. She’ll stay until the end. Possibly longer. Nobody will notice if I leave. I’ve been here all afternoon and somehow managed to avoid him. Likely because he seemed just as interested in avoiding me, which is a very, very good thing. Just because I’ve avoided confrontation, or even acknowledgment, that doesn’t mean every fiber of my being hasn’t felt his presence here today. I just have to strategize getting through the house… or maybe I can sneak around the side to the front gate. I knew before I even saw him that wasn’t going to happen. My window of opportunity had slammed shut. And he is the one who slammed it. Dammit! Did I seriously think I could make it through the entire funeral and reception without having to confront him? Well, yes, actually, I did think that. Until this point, he had shown no interest in acknowledging me, either. Which was more than fine with me. And yet now, now here he stands, in all his glory, leaning against the doorjamb, staring my way. He took a small sip of the whiskey in his hand, shoved himself off the door, and stepped out onto the patio. Those long legs flowing toward me. His suit jacket long since removed, tie loosened, sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled up. And those damn round tortoise shell glasses still perched atop his narrow nose. Funerals. The last time I laid eyes on Carter Hughes was at another funeral. One neither of us was welcome at. A funeral we had to attend from afar, off skulking in the damn trees. We were essentially kids then. Kids without a clue how to handle what had just happened. Hell. It’s been decades since that funeral, and yet… it feels like yesterday. At times the gut-wrenching pain races through my body like an out-of-control wildfire. Like it is doing right now. Just because I am sharing the same fucking air that he is. Did I really expect I could be as much a part of Brady’s life as I am and never once cross