“I know that too.” Rick sighs. “Look, it’s not about what you’ve done. It’s about what they think you can do going forward. They’re looking at the numbers, the projections, and they’re getting cold feet.”
“So what are they offering?”
“Nothing yet. That’s the problem.” He meets my eyes. “They’re exploring other options.”
“Other options.”
“Trade options.”
The word hits harder than any punch. Trade. Again. Another city, another team, another locker room full of strangers. Another place that doesn’t want me.
“Where?” My voice comes out flat. Controlled.
“Seattle’s interested. So is Vegas.” Rick pauses. “And there’s been some noise from San Jose.”
Seattle. Vegas. San Jose.
All of them are across the country. All of them three thousand miles from New York. Three thousand miles from Winnie.
“When would this happen?”
“Nothing’s decided yet. The deadline isn’t for another month. But if the Knights can’t come to terms, they’ll want to move you while your valueis still high.” He leans forward. “I’m telling you this now so you’re not blindsided. So we can strategize.”
Strategize. Like my entire life isn’t hanging in the balance.
Fuck.
My fists clench under the table. “What do you recommend?”
“Honestly? Play well. Stay healthy. Show them you’re worth the investment.” Rick shrugs. “That’s all you can do. The rest is out of your hands.”
Out of my hands. Story of my life.
Practice is a disaster.
I’m distracted. Sloppy. Missing passes I should make in my sleep, losing battles along the boards, and getting caught out of position. Coach yells at me twice. The third time, he just shakes his head like he’s given up.
I can’t focus. Every time I try to lock in, my brain circles back to Rick’s words.
I’ve been traded twice before. I know what it feels like—the upheaval, the uncertainty, the starting over. The first time, I was young enough to bounce back. The second time was harder.
Finding a new place to live. Meeting a bunch of strangers.
I don’t know if I can do it again.
And then there’s Winnie.
We haven’t defined what we are. We haven’t had the conversation about labels, commitment, or thefuture. We’re just… existing together, figuring it out as we go. I said I’d let her set the pace.
But how do you set a pace when the ground is shifting beneath your feet?
“Banks!”
I look up. The puck I was supposed to receive has sailed past me and into the corner. Zayden is staring at me, eyebrows raised.
“You okay?”
“Fine.”
