Alderman folds his hands on the desk. "We have an offer."
The sentence is both expected and still somehow rude.
"Okay."
"Conditional third-round pick. Could become a second if games played and playoff advancement thresholds are met. Retaining twenty-five percent salary. Team is a contender. Western Conference."
He says the team name.
I do not react.
Good team. Real chance. Veteran room. Coach I know from Minnesota. Cold city. Bad visitor parking. Decent ice.
"They want a decision by tomorrow night," Alderman says.
"No-trade."
"You can block twelve teams. They're not currently on your submitted list, but the clause allows an updated list before deadline movement. Your agent confirmed."
My agent. Of course my agent knows. My agent probably knew before Gerald said my name. Hockey is a series of conversations about your life conducted by people who are not you.
"Do you want to move me?" I ask.
Alderman does not dodge. I respect that even though I would prefer to dislike him.
"Professionally? The offer is fair. We have Isaac up. We need cap flexibility. You're an expiring asset with a medical concern."
Expiring asset. Accurate. Disgusting.
"And?"
"And we're in a playoff position. You're still one of our best defensive reads. Callahan trusts you late. The room trusts you always. Moving you makes sense on a spreadsheet and less sense when I look at the bench."
I look through the glass at the empty rink.
"Caleb involved?" I ask.
Alderman's face does not change. "No. He has not seen the offer, discussed the offer, or contributed to any recommendation involving you. The recusal is active."
I nod.
Something in my chest loosens. Something else tightens.
Caleb is not in the room. Caleb does not get a vote. Caleb gave up the vote. This decision, for once, is not being shaped by the man I want or the man who wants me. It is mine in a way very few things in hockey are mine.
I do not know what to do with that.
"It's your call," Alderman says.
I look at him.
"If you want to chase a Cup with them, we will not stand in your way," he says. "If you want to stay, we will not move you without consent. I won't pretend the offer doesn't help us. It does. I also won't pretend you've earned anything less than a direct conversation."
Earned. The word lands badly. Not because it is wrong. Because it is kind.
"I need time," I say.
"You have until tomorrow night."
