Page 47 of Two for Roughing

“Nice. I thought it’d be one pick at most. Guess the Sea Lions are desperate for a tendy.” Henderson pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Oh, shit, that’s my agent. I should take this. Do you know when I’m flying out?”

“As soon as possible.”

“I guess this is goodbye, then. See you on the other side, Denny.” Henderson took off in the direction of the hotel, phone pressed to his ear.

At a loss, Damir watched him go. Was it his job to break it to the team? Would Henderson not say goodbye? Did Damir need to have a one-on-one talk with any particular friends before the news broke? Henderson and Damir didn’t run in the same circles when it came to casual hangouts, largely because Damir had no interest in golf. Off the top of his head, he couldn’t think of anyone Henderson seemed particularly close to. If he’d intended to be traded all along, why bother?

Damir knew that hockey was a business and trades happened all the time. In fact, he preferred Henderson knowing about it and wanting it over being caught by surprise. All the same, he couldn’t shake the sense of unease at the man calculating his own market value and showing so little emotion about leaving the team he’d been drafted to.

If Damir were traded, he would be sadder. He would say goodbye.

Perhaps feeling so strongly was his prerogative as a first overall pick. The chances of him being traded without his say-so were slim. On the other hand, no one expected a trade so far out from the deadline, and everyone liked to believe in their own value. After all, a team drafted a player because they wanted him.

Kilian probably thought the same thing.

Shit, Kilian.

Damir dug out his phone and opened his message thread with Kilian.

Nothing.

Was Kilian still at the club? Did he know he’d been traded yet? Or was he on the dance floor, loose and relaxed from alcohol and the orgasm he’d had thinking about Damir?

Damir called him.

“Oh my God!” Kilian shouted down the line. “I did the thing in the bathroom; let me dance in peace!”

He sounded drunk.

He sounded happy.

Noise bled through the phone speakers, a thumping beat and the hum of dozens, maybe hundreds, of other guys talking and laughing and kissing.

“You need to sober up,” Damir said.

“Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me.”

Damir rolled his eyes. “I’m serious, Kilian. They traded you to fucking Chicago. Your GM or your coach or some other grown adult is about to get in touch. Do you want to be drunk off your ass in a gay club when they do?”

Silence.

The sound of a scuffle, voices muffled. Kilian’s voice, distant, came as if he had the phone pulled away from his ear. “No, Liam, I gotta take this.”

Who was Liam? Was Kilian dancing with him? Or worse, dating him? No, wait. It wouldn’t be bad if Kilian was dating him. Kilian could date whoever he wanted. But then he shouldn’t send Damir voice messages of himself getting off in the bathroom. And he would have to dump the guy anyway because he’d gotten traded to Chicago, and—

Damir was getting ahead of himself.

The distant clang of a door closing drew his attention back to his phone.

Then, small and quiet, “They traded me?”

Damir swallowed heavily. “I’m sorry. I just found out. You and two draft picks for Henderson.”

There was a little whoosh, as if Kilian had sucked in a breath. “We need a tendy. I guess it’s my fault Dmitriyev’s broken.”

“It’s not—”

“Thanks for warning me, Damir. Guess I’ll drink some water before the grown-ups start calling.”