AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter One
Ryker
“Calm down?” I ask as anger and panic collide like a storm in my chest. “I’m about to get kicked out of the country because your administrative assistant forgot to send the check with my extension application, and you want me to calm down?”
“It was an accident, Ryker. She didn’t mean to forget it,” James Potter, my sports agent, says across his desk.
His gaze is sharp, and his dark hair is slicked back to the point that it would be immovable even in a Seattle windstorm.
An accident would be confusing wasabi for avocado at a sushi restaurant or hitting on a woman at an office Christmas party only to find out she’s your boss's wife. This is way bigger than a mistake." It was a code-red emergency. I can’t get sent back to Canada mid-season—sure, I’m old for an NFL player, but my career will only be done when I say it’s done. I refuse to let down my Hawkeyes family over a damn administrative error. “And since you’ve come to expect the big payday that my NHL contract has paid you over the last eighteen years, I figured you’d be a little more empathetic to the fact that both of our livelihoods are at risk here.”
“I get it, I do. But maybe this is the nudge you need,” he says, his eyes not leaving mine.
I know that tone. He’s got a wild plan brewing, and in my desperation, I’m all ears.
Anything's better than facing immigration's wrath.
“What nudge are you referring to?” I ask, my eyes darting across his fancy lacquered desk.
Behind him, the Seattle skyline stretches, a jagged silhouette of glass and steel against the evening sky, indifferent to the turmoil in this office.
He secured this office after my third contract, a milestone that now feels like a lifetime ago, considering our many years of success during my eighteen-year NHL career. Being my agent pays him well… just not well enough to ensure that his assistant knows how to slip the check I gave her into the application envelope right before I left with the guys to Seven’s shack in Mexico for bye-week.
The visa extension should have been simple. I submit one every year around January and it’s never been a problem before, but the immigration office is strict. The application and the check must be in the same envelope, or it’s considered invalid. With their growing pile of applications, processing can take weeks, and I don’t have that kind of time.
I shouldn’t have left town. I should have handled this myself, but James’s office has always gotten the envelope certified mail for me so I don’t have to stand in line at the post office. We’ve been doing this for so many years— there’s no way I thought she could fuck it up after all this time.
When I called the immigration office, after receiving their letter that my application was incomplete, I asked if I could send them a new application with the check. They told me that the new extension application would likely not get opened and processed in time before my visa status is revoked because their extension office is behind and overfaced after the Christmas break last month. Since everyone came back from the Christmas break last month, they’re also seeing an influx of extension applications.
People told me to find a new agent once I hit the big time, but I didn’t. Maybe I’m too stubborn to leave, or maybe I’m too loyal and don’t believe in outgrowing people. And it’s not like he hasn’t negotiated some great deals for me in the past.
But whatever the reason for me keeping him on, it’s turning out to be a poor business decision.
“That social media influencer you've been seeing for the past year...”
He snaps his fingers together as if trying to come up with her name.
“Six months…” I correct. “Amelia.”
At just over a million followers online, being a social media influencer is how she makes her living.
“Right…right.” He nods with a grin. “Six months is a long time for a professional athlete, isn’t it?”
What does that have to do with anything?
“I guess that depends on the athlete.”
He might have asked the question, but he ignores the answer and continues.
“I just spoke with a buddy down at immigration—”
“Wait, you have a buddy that works for immigration?” I ask.
“Well… more like an acquaintance at a men’s club I play poker at once a week…” he admits.
I’ve always known James has a little bit of a gambling problem, though it hasn’t seemed to affect his work, so it’s none of my damn business.
“… and I told him about our missing check situation.”
