“Ugh. Fair point. Maybe we were both lucky.”
“You know what...I think we were. I think...maybe we both needed to know each other. To be...friends?” The olive branch could not be clearer if he were holding actual greenery, and I grasp hold of it.
“Yeah?”
“To be clear, I amnotaccepting your proposition from the club. I just...think it must be lonely for you. To be the only one. I know it's lonely for me. Maybe we could be lonely...together?”
As the light turns green, I pull into the hotel.
“Yeah...I think I'd like that.”
As I pull up to the hotel curb, I let out a long, slow breath. For the first time in a long time, I feel like maybe—just maybe—I’m not completely alone.
On the way home,my phone rings with a call from my agent. Jack is a total shark, but he hardly ever calls if it isn't necessary, so I pick up.
“Ethan, is this an ok time? I need to check in with you on a couple of your contracts we're negotiating.”
On top of my contract with the Huskies, Jack manages all of my endorsement deals. From sticks to gloves to shoes, there are all sorts of brands eager to have me promote their products.
“Sure. I'm just driving home from the game.”
“It was a close one. You gotta keep Zee from drawing stupid penalties.”
This was true; at five foot eight, Zachary Price had no business getting in the face of Étienne Fournier, but apparently no one has toldhimthat.
“At least you've got Carter, though. That move he does makes Volkov look like he's still in Bantam.”
I smile at that, remembering the flight where Carter and I worked it all out.
“Yeah, between his speed and his skills, he's tough to defend against.”
I think of him tonight, in the seat next to me, telling me about his fears. How ridiculous to think that we would send him to Des Moines – almost as ridiculous as the fact that for the entirety of camp, that'sexactlywhat I wanted us to do.
“I know your dad hates he's on the team, but I can't really hateanyonewho's getting you this many wins.”
The mention of my dad is like being doused with cold water. I haven't talked to him recently, but his texts after each game have made his opinions on Carterveryclear.
“Yeah. It's nice having the offensive production, for sure.”
“Absolutely. Anyway, I'm about to start renegotiations with Bauer and I wanted to check in with you first. Any interest in switching companies, or are we good to iron out the details?”
Bauer has sponsored me for the past five years, and I've got no complaints about the equipment.
“You're good to talk to them. No need to push for more money, just get me something to sign.”
“Andthis, Ethan, is why you'd better never become an agent. You're too soft.”
I roll my eyes, grateful Jack can't see. I already get paid literally millions to play a game for a living. Why do I need more to use equipment I would buy anyway?
“That's what I've got you for, Jack. Just don't lose the contract – I hate the curve on the new CCM sticks.”
He laughs at that.
“No problem, kid. The shoe deal isn't up for renewal until next year, so we'll deal with it then. I think Marty is working on something, but he's keeping it pretty close to the vest. Don't you sign a fuckingthingwithout me reading it, ok?”
Ugh. Every now and then, my dad decides there's something Jack isn't doing right for my career. Then he seeks out new deals – once even tried to shop a trade around – in an effort to get me my due. It's exhausting. Luckily, Jack played with Marty back in the day and can usually talk him out of it.
“Never will, Jack.”
