He scoffs and shakes his head firmly before crossing his arms. Suddenly he looks more intimidating than I ever thought possible.
“Not happening. Tell me first, then we’ll see.”
I groan and flop down on the couch, but he stays standing.
It’s not like I want to make him sign an NDA or anything. I think that’s really not needed with him—especially him.
“Okay. Can you trade for Lex to play for the Demons, please?”
A snort isn’t what I was expecting, and I battle with myself to keep from feeling embarrassed.
“It’s forhim,” I snap. “Not for—okay, notonlyfor me. It’s for him.”
“He’s miserable,” Tucker says simply, like he’s informing me grass is green and the ocean is salty. He transforms right before my eyes when he uncrosses his arms and pushes his hands into the pockets of his jeans, suddenly looking as relaxed and casual as ever.
There’s amusement in his brown eyes, sure, but there’s also understanding. If there’s one thing Tucker Barclay knows in this world, it’s hockey, so I don’t bother correcting him.
“Do you think you can do it? Convince the right people or whatever? Would Jim be a problem? Is it even a possibility or am I delusional?”
He hums softly, looking off to the blank wall where my guess is he’s seeing things I can’t. Finally he sighs and sits on the other end of the couch, looking at me thoughtfully.
“If he waives his no-trade clause and doesn’t put us in his no-trade list, then it’s a possibility. He could have a small list of the only teams he’ll get traded to, and if we’re not on it, then he’s not gonna be a Demon.” He keeps staring at the wall, clearly still thinking it through. “I can make sure our GM looks into it, but the consequences of this trade would mean we lose at least two decent players, maybe two good players and a draft pick. He’s Alexei fucking Jankowski and he’s still under contract, so we’d have to pay up. It’s gonna take me some time, and I’m not the fucking GM or even assistant GM and neither of them particularly like me, but they’d hear me out.” He finally turns back to me. “Really, there’s no way I can guarantee this.”
“But you can try, and it’s not impossible,” I conclude.
“I can try.” He nods once. “And if I pull this off, you’re going to owe me.” There’s a glint in his eyes that tells me he has a few things in mind, so I hold my hand up.
“I won’t steal anything for you. I can annoy people, make their lives inconvenient, even difficult, and I can get you some information, but I won’t steal for you.”
Those are very loose terms, but they represent me well, I think, so I lower my forearm and offer him my hand to shake on it.
When he grips it, a new kind of smile blooms on his lips.
“You’re quickly becoming one of my best friends, Eli.”
8
Lex
December 13th
Life moves slowly from the moment I wake up to when I walk back into my apartment or hotel room every day.
Going to practices, doing media, playing games every two or three days, and short roadies... it all drags at a snail’s pace ever since I had the trade talk with Patrick.
Once it’s real.
Nothing’s changed, really. There’s no way Patrick could ever rush the very delicate and secretive conversations he needs to have, but the moment I get home, I can at least go online in peace and see what crazy things Eli’s been posting. I get to smile at my phone like an idiot then pretend I’m cool when we talk right before Eli goes to bed.
Or right before he’s supposed to go to bed.
There’s been no obsessive binges since I last saw him, I don’t think, but he has been working longer than nine hours a day since he’s getting a bunch of new clients, and I’m sure he’s working on a few other things he can’t talk to anyone about. Eli always has a few projects going on at the same time. I know that’s how he likes it, how he thrives.
He always manages to ask how I’m doing, though, and wants to know absolutely everything about the most mundane things. He demanded a tour of my apartment, which I was ashamed to realize he’d never seen before. He listens while I explain the meal plans the team sends us home with, and he also asks a lot of questions about hockey, which remind me that I actually love it.
It’s a good reminder.
Hockey’s my first love. Eli’s my second one, of course, but I fell in love with hockey before I could understand what a lifelong dream was, before I even had control of my bladder for fuck’s sake.
