Darryl “Chains” Carruthers was retired MI6 and had bought the security firm Lennox worked for. I’d heard the original owner, Joe Westfield, was moving to Limaj to take over security for the royal family there, so Chains had bought it from him. That was where Lennox had been working the last couple of years, though it didn’t look like she’d be with them much longer.
“I don’t have his number,” I said.
“I’ll send him your info, give him an overview of your situation and let him contact you. He’s a good guy, but he won’t blow smoke up your ass. He’ll be straight with you, even if you won’t like what he has to say.”
“That’s fine,” I said. “I need some straight talk right about now because I don’t know what the hell is going to happen with Isla and me if I don’t get my shit together.”
“Well, I don’t know her, but how would you feel if she wanted you to leave hockey to move to Scotland, even though you had no idea what you would do once you got there?” she asked softly.
“But I’m not asking her to do it that way,” I protested. “I just want her to do some research, see if there are potential jobs here in Vegas, and maybe talk to some people. Instead, she’s just going back without a plan.”
She looked at me intently. “But you don’t have a plan either. I’m not sure it’s fair to ask her to come up with one first, when she’s the one who has to move. Just an outsider’s perspective. You both have to follow your hearts.”
She left me with those words, moving to the next machine. I followed her even as my stomach churned at the thought of giving up Isla. Our relationship was a lot more complicated than it might seem to people on the outside looking in. I didn’t blame Isla for being reluctant to give up her incredibly prestigious position in Edinburgh to move here and do who-knew-what. I’d been frustrated at first, but now that I thought about it, she was right. How could I ask her to do that until I had my own shit together?
We’d just gotten in my SUV to head home, when I got a text from one of my teammates. Toli was having a cookout at his place and inviting a bunch of us over.
“Do you want to go to a cookout at Toli Petrov’s house this weekend?” I asked Isla.
“Sure.” She nodded. “Ian and Everly are getting back tomorrow as well, so it’ll be nice to see everyone before I leave.”
I glanced over at her. “Have you booked your flight home?”
She bit her lip as she nodded. “I have to be back at work the first week of September, and I left without even cleaning up my lab or anything. I’ve got a ton of work to do before students arrive mid-September.”
“I see.” I’d spent most of my life compartmentalizing anything emotional, so I could focus on hockey. Now I was trying to focus less on hockey and I’d fallen in love with a woman who seemed to make it impossible for me to compartmentalize anything. My whole life right now was one big, messy ball of emotional everything. And it fucking sucked.
“I’m not leaving yet,” she said softly. “Not until a week from Sunday, so we have almost two full weeks left together.”
“I’m going to talk to the owner of the security firm Lennox works for,” I said, abruptly changing the subject because there was nothing else to say about her leaving.
“That sounds like a good idea,” she murmured, glancing over at me. “Perhaps he can help you target the direction you want to go.”
“Let’s hope so.”
I met with Chains the following day, dropping Isla off to spend a little time with Margot and Gracie, whom she’d only seen once since arriving in Las Vegas. Westfield & Carruthers had a nice office space, though it was off the beaten path, in a nondescript building in a neighborhood I might never have ventured into otherwise. Once inside, though, the reception area was nicely decorated and Chains’ office was like that of any generic executive of a business that was doing well.
“I wouldn’t have known this was here if you hadn’t given me the address,” I told him after we’d said hello. I’d seen him at the gym and recognized his face, but it took a few minutes to put the details together in my head. It was a long, convoluted version of seven degrees of separation, but Chains’ wife, Emilie, had three children. The first was with her ex-husband, Viggo Sjoberg, who was one of my teammates. The second was with Viggo’s current husband, Jamie, who was an assistant coach on the team and had once been my teammate. And the final, of course, was with Chains. I didn’t know how that whole thing had come about, but Chains, Emilie and the kids often came to games, so we’d met, but I hadn’t put two and two together until now.
“That’s done by design,” he replied, chuckling. He sat back in his chair and smiled, his deep-set blue eyes curious. “So tell me what’s on your mind, mate.”
I told him everything. From my interest in the military, to getting too old for the FBI, to my new fascination with bodyguards. At this point, I’d told the story so many times, and talked about it to so many people, it felt a little stale. Even to me.
“So what I’m hearing is a man going through a midlife crisis at twenty-eight.”
I frowned. I’d had thoughts like that as well. “You know, I’d say you’re right, except I fell in love this summer and instead of being able to enjoy it, and her, all I could think about was having to trade
