Page 137 of Double Puck

"Developments?"

"Vegas came back." Colin shuffles papers like a man dealing cards he doesn't want to look at. "Their offer improved. Significantly. Naturally, the negotiations moved fast from there. Faster than anyone expected, honestly."

The cappuccino goes very heavy in my hands.

Coach Pearson nods along, then looks across the table at me. "As of about six this morning, the Bears and Vegas have essentially reached an agreement on terms."

The teams have reached an agreement.

Beck told me that Vegas wanted an answer. He had the offer. Everything he ever wanted.

Oh my God.

He chose Vegas.

He stood at that cage yesterday and told me to write the truth, and then he went home and… what? Called his agent? Said yes? Packed a bag while I was rewriting the version of his report that I haven't even had the chance to present yet?

"Hold on." Declan's deep voice rumbles from beside me. "What agreement? Since when do the teams agree on anything without the player's people in the room?"

"His people were in the room," Colin says. "That's rather the point of people."

"I'm his fucking people," Declan fires back.

Mason raises a hand. "Also people."

"So don't give us that shit." Declan plants both hands on the table. "You remember my contract. You wanted me in Beachside, you agreed my brothers would be looked after."

Colin sighs. "I remember every clause in your contract, Declan. Unfortunately, none of them appoint you Beck's legal guardian."

Mason makes a strangled noise beside him.

Declan doesn't find it funny. "You know what that agreement meant."

"Yes. It meant we'd look after Beck. It did not mean we'd ask his older brother for permission before speaking to his agent."

"I'm his family!"

"Unfortunately, family isn't a contractual party, Declan."

"He lives HERE." Declan's face is growing redder. This is going well. Really well. "You're doing a deal about my brother in the middle of the night and holding the meeting in his own kitchen and he's not even—"

"Dec." Mason's voice has turned quiet. He reaches across and places a hand over Declan's. "Let the man talk."

Biscuit, sensing emotion, puts his head on Mason's knee. Declan huffs and slumps back in his seat.

"Thank you, Mason." Colin clears his throat and pushes on like a man wading through surf. "Which brings us to the formalities. Darcy, the final assessment was the purpose of today's meeting. Now, as circumstances have changed, we'll enter it into the record for future reference, and then we can discuss the transition timeline—"

"Fucking transition timeline," Declan spits back, shaking his head.

"—so, Darcy. Your recommendation?"

The whole kitchen looks at me.

Coach Pearson. Pete over his glasses. Declan, breathing like a bull. Mason, careful and watching hopefully. Diego is also frozen mid-wipe at the counter, cloth suspended like he's suddenly turned into the world's best-dressed statue.

I take a steadying breath. Because somewhere in this town, the man I love has apparently already made his choice.

It wasn't Beachside.