I sit and refuse the offered coffee. I’m too wired for a second one. I’ll start climbing the walls.
The usual bullshit comes first — praise, stats, talk about historic wins, team chemistry, growing media coverage, franchise growth. They mention how the Blazers have one of the highest fan engagement ratings in the league. I know some of it is thanks to Jessica,and I look at Tinnie; she gives a discreet wink, thinking the same.
I can’t wait for her “I told you so” speech.
Finally, Alton leans back, lacing his fingers. “Let’s jump into why we’re here.”
Thank you. Fuck.
Delgado clears her throat. “We saw your vision, Dominic. There’s just been one consistent challenge we haven’t been able to solve for a while.”
Here we go. I keep my face blank.
“It’s you.”
“Okay.” I nod slowly, jaw tight.
“It’s not your leadership or your stats, of course. No one questions your ability on the ice. You’re a generational player. But…” Here it comes. “The public just couldn’t relate to you. Not as a person. Because, well… there was no person to relate to. Just the captain on the ice.”
I blink. Okay. Fuck.
“We’ve had potential sponsors walk away because they didn’t know how to ‘sell’ you,” Alton adds gently. “You’ve been very private and guarded. Dare I say cold at times.”
Delgado nods. “For a brand built on heart, community, and connection, that matters. People invest in people, not titles. And for years, all they’ve seen is Captain Moreal.”
My fingers curl in my lap. They’re not wrong. I’ve kept the world out for a reason. Watching the edges of my dream start to curl and blacken like paper on a stovetop is brutal.
Tinnie finally speaks. “We brought in an independent analyst to forecast the youth program’s market viability. Without a human angle attached to the campaign…it was weak. No sponsors, no press. It would’ve tanked.”
My stomach drops. I’m watching my dream go up in flames, and I’ve got no fire extinguisher. No rebuttal. Nothing that won’t sound like desperation.
Keep breathing. Don’t show it.
Delgado’s tone softens. “But… the past month has made all of this spin a full 180. We’ve seen a shift in the numbers, in engagement… in you.”
Alton smiles. “It’s what a good woman with a good platform will do to you.”
I look at Tinnie; her mouth quirks. “Your girlfriend made you real to people,” she continues. “Fans aren’t just talking about the captain, they’re talking about you. She humanized your image.”
Delgado adds, “Sponsors started circling. Because now, the face of the program isn’t just Captain Moreal. It’s Dominic. It was smart to start posting more of your life on social media and having your girlfriend do the same. Now you’re a man kids and their parents can see, a man investors want to build around.”
“I understand,” I say, nodding.
This might not be a funeral after all.
A long beat follows. I glance between the suits. Delgado taps the tablet in front of her and the monitor comes to life.
It’s my presentation — my framework. The full infrastructure of the Blaze Academy Youth Initiative: blueprints, projections, timelines, budget breakdowns. Everything I’ve been sending in piecemeal, compiled.
“As you can see,” Delgado says, “this is all your work. We’ve mapped out preliminary models: locations in Miami-Dade and surrounding counties.Based on your reports and our analysis, there are five viable sites.”
The map shifts and stats follow. Investment projections, tiered program structure, target demographics. It’s all there.
Alton: “Dominic, these are your numbers. Walk us through them.”
I straighten. A part of me — the kid who was never supposed to make it out of his house, let alone lead a franchise — thinks this is a setup. That they’ll let me speak and then pull the rug. But I shove that shit down. I didn’t come here to play scared.
“We modeled the foundation off a hybrid structure,” I say, voice steady. “NHL developmental academies plus community outreach. The idea isn’t just to create better athletes; it’s to build a better future for them.”
