“Fourth-round picks are not sure things, Mel. Half of us never sign. Half of us play four years of college and then go play in Europe or coach high school or sell insurance. The Ducks watched me, and they liked what they saw. This year they need to seemore.They need to see me play through hard things. They need to see me at full minutes against the best kids in the conference. They have my rights until I’m twenty-four. End of next season, they have to decide whether to sign me to a contract or pass.”
“What happens if they sign you?”
“Entry-level deal. I’d report to their AHL team. San Diego. NHL inside two years if I play my cards right.”
“And if they pass?”
“I’m a free agent. I figure it out. Try to sign with another team. Maybe Europe. Maybe coach. If I tell the trainer, she sits me for a week. The scout shows up to a home game, and I’m in the press box in a button-down. He sees the kid on the third line getting my minutes instead. He puts a note in the file.Golding was hurt in November.That note follows me. And the Ducks pass.”
A long beat.
“So I’m not telling the trainer. Not until the season’s over. Not unless it gets bad enough that I’m a danger to the team.”
“Promise me one thing,” I say.
He looks up at me.
“If your shoulder gets worse. If it gets actually worse — like, you cannot lift it worse, or you wake up and your hand is numb worse — you tell someone. Not me. You tell your trainer. Or Coach. Or Benson. Promise?”
He looks at me. “Okay.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
He looks at me, and I offer a small smile.
I shrug. “It’s still really exciting.”
His grin grows slowly. “Yeah.”
“So, tonight when you play, they’re watching you?”
He nods. “Are you going to watch?”
“I’ve watched all of your games,” I admit.
“Even with your boyfriend?”
I blush, trying to hide the heat of my face. “Yes.”
I set the mug down as he looks at it. “What did he think about that?”
I shrug. “I didn’t tell him about you.”
“Really?” he asks, his eyes meeting mine again. They’re a soft blue right now, so I stare at them.
“Yeah. I didn’t tell anyone about you. Only Mila, of course.”
He chuckles. “I didn’t talk about you either.” He sips his coffee. “So your ex just thought you were a Wolves fan?”
I nod. “He knew I always wanted to come to Camden.”
“So you planned to break up with him the whole time?”
I shrug and chuckle nervously. “That sounds so bad when you put it that way.”
“If it’s the truth, then it’s the truth.”
