Page 120 of Making the Save

“I’m not ready Dad,” I said. “I don’t know who I am if I’m not Wyatt Locke, defenseman of the Colorado Peaks.”

“You’re still Wyatt Locke. Only you chop more wood. You raise some kids. You go to music award ceremonies.”

Honestly, that sounded pretty good.

A Few Days Later

New York

I felt like a stalker.

I was in a Peaks t-shirt and khaki shorts, a baseball cap pulled down low over my forehead. I stood across the street from her building, near the subway entrance that was busy, so hopefully I wouldn’t stand out.

It had taken some effort, but finally,finally,Liam had dug up Sydney’s address. She lived in a loft on the upper West Side of New York. She preferred the neighborhood around Columbus Circle that was also close to Central Park. Her building had a doorman, so there was no getting inside unless she decided to let me up, and given that she still wouldn’t return my calls, that seemed unlikely.

My only shot was to time it right and wait for her to come out, which I hadn’t done in the three days I’d been here. So either she knew I was here and was doing an excellent job of avoiding me, or maybe there was a special secret exit for her to avoid people.

I got that it probably wasn’t the easiest thing for her to walk around on the streets by herself. People probably recognized her, but this was New York. Someone was always being recognized.

Dad said I needed patience, but it was starting to grow thin. Preseason would be starting in the next few weeks. I was running out of time and all I wanted was a chance to talk to her.

She had to know I hadn’t signed the damn divorce papers. That had to make her wonder.

I was considering trying to scam my way past the doorman, after all, she was still my wife, when I spotted a woman leaving her building, with a small white dog on a leash. The woman was wearing, of all things…a Peaks baseball cap.

The Peaks baseball cap that used to be at my cabin.

Was she shitting me?

I crossed the street, lucky that the light was with me, and picked up her tail about ten feet back. The dog was pulling on the leash, but fortunately wasn’t strong enough to get away. It was a puppy. She was talking to it like it could understand her and people were giving her funny looks as she passed.

I stayed about three rows of people behind her and together we all crossed at the light, heading towards Central Park.

My heart was beating like crazy against my ribs. I had a thousand questions I wanted to ask. Had she forgotten about me? Was she missing me? Did she really want to end it this way? Would she give me a chance to explain myself?

The second she hit the park, the dog, a Westie terrier by the looks of it, started sniffing around in the grass off the path. It was clear, the dog was in charge of Syd and not the other way around.

“Predator, no. Don’t chew the poop. Bad Predator, bad. Come here. Treat? Treat?”

I stood on the path and watched her completely mis-train her dog.

Predator? Had she really named that dog Predator?

“Now sit,” she said, giving the dog the treat before it even sat down for her.

“That’s not how you do it.” I said, coming up behind her.

She whirled around at the sound of my voice, her hand flying up to her mouth. The look of her gutted me. She was beautiful. I didn’t know if she’d missed me, but now I knew for certain how much I’d missed her.

“You wait until the dog sits, then you give it a treat as a reward,” I said.

“Wyatt,” she breathed out. “What are you doing here?”

“You wouldn’t talk to me,” I said.

“So you flew to New York?”

I shrugged.