“Yeah,” Ramsey agreed. Barty had been quiet so far but then that wasn’t surprising because it was what he and Barty had agreed on yesterday. Truthfully, he hadn’t really needed Barty here for this; he was only present because it would be weirder if Barty wasn’t.
“Headaches gone. Balance back. Returning to the ice. Your PT specifically put a note that in the few ice sessions you’ve had so far, your drills looked great.” Rossbury paused. “She’s not a coach, of course.”
Ramsey shrugged, as easily as he could. Even though it wasn’t easy at all. “Only a lifelong Leafs fan.”
Rossbury chuckled under his breath. “Poor woman.”
“Trust me, she feels it,” Ramsey said.
“I floated the idea to Barty of sending you to Syracuse for a conditioning stint.”
Yeah, Rossbury had. Ramsey hated the idea of it. He didn’t want to go to the AHL. He wanted to be back on NHL ice. Playing in NHL games. Earning the contract extension he’d signed right before the Sens game.
“I don’t need that.” It was unlike him to be so dead set against something—at least verbally, when working his opponent around to his own opinion was usually far more effective—but Ramsey wasn’t willing to take the chance he couldn’t pull it off and he’d end up in Syracuse for the rest of the season.
It was only mid-November. The NHL had only been playing for six weeks. He could come back by Christmas and play like he’d lost no time at all. Ramsey feltsureof this.
“I know you don’t think you do.”
Ramsey exchanged a quick glance with Barty, who gave him a minute shake of his head. Okay, so Barty hadn’t told Rossbury that Ramsey didn’t want to go to Syracuse, so Rossbury must have figured that out all on his own.
“I—”
“Ramsey, let’s be honest with each other,” Rossbury interrupted with a light, resigned sigh. He pulled his glasses off and polished them on his shirt. It was easy to forget he’d been a player himself, because he often looked like a guy who’d only ever crunched numbers, though that was not true. He’d played for the Wolves himself, for fifteen years.
“I’m being honest,” Ramsey said. He was not going to get annoyed, even as he wanted to. Rossbury didn’t have a clue how much more uncharacteristic honesty he was currently getting from Ramsey.
“You are,” Rossbury agreed. “I know you don’t want to go to Syracuse. But you also want to play hockey. For a long time, I’m going to assume.”
For a long moment, Ramsey wanted very much to hold on to all his cards. On to all his walls. Not let Rossbury see beneath them. It was a habit born of too many childhood lessons. Tough to let go, though he knew he should, especially in this moment.
It took effort to do it. To do it and relax after doing it.
“For a long time,” Ramsey agreed.
“Cliff, the assistant GM, thought Barty here negotiated so tough because he’s Barty, and also because you give a shit about the money, but I told him he was wrong.”
Ramsey twitched. He hadn’t realized that Brock Rossbury wasthisobservant.
“Cliff,” Rossbury continued, “was also under the mistaken impression that Barty runs you, like he does basically all his clients—”
“Hey now,” Barty interrupted, annoyance flashing across his face.
“Barty, we’ve been friends a long time. Don’t try to pretend Ramsey’s like all your other clients.”
Barty shot Ramsey a sympathetic glance. “Alright, I won’t.”
“You took him when it didn’t even make sense for you to add him to your stable. And that’s panned out, but as much because Ramsey here is maybe the smartest hockey player I’ve ever seen—certainly the most strategic—as much as he’s actually got the skill and the drive to back it up.”
Ramsey didn’t thank Rossbury for noticing both of those things, but he was thinking it. Flushed inside at being soseen. It was a good and bad feeling. One he was still getting used to. Brody and Wes had shown him the beginnings of it. Nate was furthering it. But that didn’t mean Ramsey was used to it yet. Didn’t mean that it sat easy on him. The opposite, in fact.
But he forced himself to accept it. It was different with Rossbury than it had been with Brody and Wes, who’d slid easily and eventually under his defenses, and very different than Nate, who’d bombarded them until Ramseywantedto wave the white flag.
No, for Brock Rossbury, Ramsey was going to have to let them down out of his own accord. And he’d done a lot easier things.
“You’re not wrong, as usual,” Barty said, with a genuine smile. “Told you he was a good guy,” he added, directing that to Ramsey.
What he’d actually told Ramsey was that he’d have difficulty doing his usual running-circles-around-everyone routine with Rossbury.
