“Well, there’s a fair number of fans pissed they didn’t win a date with you. And then there are a few videos of you arguing with the woman who did.”
“I wasn’t arguing.”
“She didn’t seem too eager.”
“You know… she wasn’t… I did what you wanted me to do.”
Her laugh digs under my skin. I like it better when she’s pissed at me, at least that I can rely on. It’s when she’s nice that I need to worry.
“Can you talk now or not?”
“We’ve been talking.” And fine, maybe I’m a little grumpy.It’s close to my nap time, and I hate skipping those. “Sorry, go ahead.”
“First, you really need to stop messing around with Ava. I know you think it’s funny?—”
“I don’t.”
Heather sighs. “Jack, there’s chatter about trading you.”
“Tradingme?” I scoff, surprised to find myself in front of the old hockey rink. Muscle memory, I guess. I haven’t set foot inside this place in years. “Everyone loves me.”
“No, everyone loves Bosko. That’s why he made captain, and you didn’t.”
I love Garrett, but he’s the golden boy of our team. Total PR dream. He has a gorgeous wife and kid, plays great hockey, and loves a good public-facing charity event. Plus, he has the added advantage of not racking up penalty points as often as I do.
“Boston loves me.”
“Sure, and that’s why you’re still here. But fucking the coach’s daughter? You think Kapeck is going to be happy about that?” She’s quiet for a minute as I pull into an empty parking spot. “Listen, time for some tough love. You play great fucking hockey, but you’ve got an image problem. Sponsors don’t want to work with you anymore. Not to mention one more hit like last year, and your career might be over.”
“I’m fine,” I snap, throwing the G-Wagon into park. Last season’s concussion was business as usual. It’s fine.
“You were a lucky bastard when you were traded to Boston. You always wanted to play for your home team. But I’m telling you now, there’s no longer a guarantee you’re going to close out your career here.”
“Why? You and I both know they need me.”
I scratch the back of my neck, grab my phone, and hop out into the nearly empty parking lot. Seagulls swoop overhead as I shut the door and press the phone against my ear.
“They don’t if you’re going to keep racking up penalties like you have.”
Five years ago, I signed a seven-year contract that set me up nicely. At twenty-five, it was the kind of shit that sounded too good to be true.
“Maybe I need a new fucking agent.”
“Jack.” She says my name like a warning.
Fair.
I rub at the throbbing behind my temple. “Sorry.” I scuff my boot against the asphalt riddled with potholes. “You negotiated the no-movement clause. We both know I’m not going anywhere.”
“Don’t bullshit me. Your ice time could be cut, or there could be a line change. And don’t think the Breakers won’t buy out your contract if needed.”
Fuck. I know she’s right.
“You still have time to fix this, so I’m going to make a suggestion, Jack.”
I’m suddenly having flashbacks to when my dad would sit my brothers and me down at the dining room table for a talk, his arms crossed, always smelling like lobster. The smell still turns my stomach sometimes. Not because of the lobster. Because of what usually came next. Nolan, Ethan, and I were trouble magnets. I heard “I’m not angry, just disappointed” all too often.
“What’s that?”
