Page 122 of Here We Go Again

I tell Carter about needing surgery. About not wanting to disappoint Becca. About how hard I’ve been fighting to prove I’m a Jaguar.

“But I just keep falling short,” I say. “I know you think I can do this captain thing. But I already screwed things up with Blake. And I screwed up with Becca and⁠—”

“How did you screw things up with Becca?”

“I shut her out,” I say. “Not on purpose. I just didn’t want her to worry. But that backfired because then she worried because I wasn’t talking.”

“Yeah, you can’t keep secrets from her. Not unless it’s about the size of the diamond you want to put on her finger.”

“I don’t want to have secrets. But she decided to stay in the city to be with me. It just felt wrong to expect that of her when I can’t promise her I’ll still be here in six months.”

Carter eyes me. “What did she say?”

“That I’m an idiot,” I say. “That she chose me. Not the city.”

He’s quiet for a long moment before he leans back in his chair, resting his hands on top of his head. “Do you remember the first time I was made team captain?”

I nod. “We were what, nine? Ten?”

“Ten, I think. What were we? The Coyotes?”

“Yeah. With Coach Dickson,” I say. “He had the giant mustache.”

“Right. That was him,” Carter agrees. “Anyway, when he asked me to be captain, you know what my first thought was?”

“What?”

“That he was asking me to make up for the fact that I wasn’t as good as you.”

I scoff. “Dude, that’s not true.”

“Theo,” Carter says dryly. “Your stats were always better. You scored more. Blocked more. Being made captain felt like a consolation prize. They knew people were always going to compare us. So they gave me a little something extra to even us out.”

“Whatever,” I say. “You’ve had plenty of years when you’ve scored just as often as I have. And the last two seasons, you had more points overall.”

“But you always block more shots,” Carter says evenly. “You land better hits. You’re faster. You always make more of an impact. But none of that is the point. I’m just saying, you got it in your head that you aren’t captain material because I am. I got it in my head that I would never make it in the NHL without you. I was convinced I wasn’t good enough on my own.”

“When did you think that?” I ask, still struggling to wrap my head around Carter’s confession.

“When we first started playing with the Appies. It was Alec who finally knocked sense into me. He made me realize that the only thing standing between me and what I wanted for myself was the belief that I wasn’t good enough. I had what it took. I just had to get out of my own way.”

Our team captain when we played for the Appies had a pretty big influence on us both, but I had no idea Carter ever dealt with worries about his game. That he ever felt like I was the better player.

“I’m guessing there’s a lesson in here somewhere for me.”

“Get out of your own way, man,” Carter says. “If you screwed things up with Blake, fix it, then do better. But stop with all this pressure to prove yourself. You don’t have to convince Becca. And you don’t have to convince the team either.”

“That’s debatable,” I say, but Carter shakes his head.

“It isn’t. I talked to Norcott about your conversation with Shawn. The Jaguars aren’t interested in trading you.”

I sit up a little taller. Carter talked to our general manager? “Then what was Shawn talking about?”

“There was talk,” Carter says. “Ottawa wanted you, so they asked a few questions. I’m guessing Shawn saw the potential dollar signs and thought he’d feel you out. See if it was a button worth pushing. But Norcott was never serious.”

“Then why did Shawn make me think the front office was watching me?”

“I’m guessing he hadn’t talked to Norcott yet. If he didn’t know the Jaguars wouldn’t bite, he would tell you to bring your A-game to camp. But in Norcott’s words, ‘We just plastered your faces all over Atlanta. You’re Jaguars. We want you both to be Jaguars for as long as you’re willing to stay.’”