I take a deep breath. “Marty, I’m turning down the trade.”
Silence. Complete, utter silence on the other end of the line. I can practically hear the gears grinding to a halt in his brain.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not going to New York, Marty. I’m staying in Chilmore.”
The protests come in a torrent, practiced and persuasive, but I barely hear any of it. I'm too busy picturing a life here, in Chilmore, with Zoey.
But what if she chooses the expansion?
“Colt, listen to me. The Snow Leopards are a great story, but they’re a small market team. This offer islegacymoney. You’re walking away from generational wealth! Is that what you want?”
“Yes,” I say, and the word surprises me with its certainty. “That’s exactly what I want.”
Another pause, followed by what sounds like Marty having a very colorful conversation with his coffee mug about my apparent brain damage.
Then, the low blow strikes. His last attempt to rattle me and have me change my mind.
“Do I need to call your parents? What are Jim and Julie going to say when they find out their son turned down the biggest opportunity of his career to stay in some… some mountain tourist town?”
A cold anger settles in my gut. Old anger. Familiar anger. The kind that used to make me train until I puked, just to prove I was worthy of their attention.
“I don't give a shit, Marty. Call them,” I say, my voice calm and steady. “Hell, I'll do it myself. Then I can be the one to tell them their son finally figured out what makes him happy.”
“Colt, be reasonable—”
“I am being reasonable. For the first time in my life, I’m making a choice for me. Not for my parents’ bragging rights.” I look back at The Den, at the mountains rising behind it. “I’m staying with the Snow Leopards. And I’m staying with my family.”
My family.
I hang up and drop the phone onto the passenger seat, letting out a long, shaky exhale. The weight that’s been sitting on my chest since Marty first called about the offer… it’s gone. Just like that.
Because that's exactly what this is about, isn't it?
Zoey, Morgan… hell even Beck, Mason and Declan. The fucking Snow Leopards. They're allmyfamily.
I've spent my whole life wanting this.
I can't leave that behind.
I grab my bag and push out of the SUV, and for the first time in weeks, I don't feel like a man walking toward something he has to prove.
I feel like a man walkinghome.
I pull up my messages and text Samuel on my way through the front door of The Den.
Me:Dude… I need you. Bring Cade to the arena in 20.
I don’t have to wait long. Twenty minutes later, the players’ entrance door swings open and three figures emerge: Samuel Voss, all quiet authority in a team tracksuit; Cade Jensen, grinning like he’s already heard gossip; and…
Gabe Devereaux, looming behind them like a brooding mountain.
They find me sitting in the front row of the lower bowl, staring at the pristine sheet of ice.
“This better be good, Lane,” Samuel says, dropping into the seat beside me. “I was in the middle of film review.”
“I turned down New York,” I say, without hesitation.
